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Book 

Copyright N?.___ 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 














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STANDARD 


Literary Selections 

FOR 

ADVANCED GRADES 


COMPILED BY „ „ 

THE REV. JOHN NICHOLSON 

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Sacred Heart Church 
Houston, Texas 


A. FLANAGAN COMPANY 


CHICAGO NEW YORK 



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SEP 30 1904 

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CLASS *51 XXo. Na 

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Copyright 1904 

BY 


JOHN NICHOLSON 







PREFACE 


This book is compiled to introduce pupils to 
a deeper study of literature. As pupils are sup¬ 
posed, when they reach this stage, to be familiar with 
the names and principal works of American writers, 
the selections from such sources are not so numerous 
as one would naturally expect in a book intended for 
American children. The object is to get the pupils 
acquainted with those great authors who have estab¬ 
lished a lasting and universal reputation, giving 
great Catholic authors and Catholic subjects the place 
to which they are rightly entitled and which is de¬ 
nied them in many of the secular publications foisted 
upon the public in this country. The Reader may be 
adapted to a nine or ten months’ school year, accord¬ 
ing to the special arrangements of the teacher. 
Sometimes two short selections are combined to 
form one lesson. Again, some lessons may be di¬ 
vided into two parts. 

Many words of rare occurrence are defined and 
the more difficult passages annotated, leaving, in the 
meantime, plenty of work to be developed by both 
teacher and pupil. In the selections, attention has 
been given to a blending of the useful and the pleas¬ 
ing, and an interweaving of those pieces which show 
most forcibly the beauty of virtue, the necessity of 
morality, and the power of the eternal laws of Provi¬ 
dence. If this work helps to lead young minds into 




4 


PREFACE 


the higher planes of intellectual activity, the compiler 
will feel that he has not labored in vain. 

Rev. J. T. Nicholson, the compiler, gratefully ac¬ 
knowledges the permission of D. H. McBride & Co. 
to make selections from their publications, but re¬ 
grets that more selections from modern Catholic 
writers had to be omitted owing to the policy of 
some Catholic publishers in refusing permission. 
Acknowledgments are also due Rev. Brother Wolf 
and Sisters of Charity, San Antonio, Very Rev. John 
T. Boland, St. Edward’s College, Austin, Texas, and 
“The Catholic School” Journal, Milwaukee, for ad¬ 
vice and courtesies extended. 


LESSON I 


PART I-THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE 

The original inhabitants of Britain were Celts, 
and their language Celtic. In the year 449 the island 
was visited by a number of adventurers from 
that part of northern Europe known as Schleswig- 
Holstein, on the borders of Denmark. It is believed 
they represented three different tribes called Angles, 
Saxons and Jutes. They were most probably rude 
sea-rovers or pirates, and there is no historical evi¬ 
dence that they possessed any written language or 
alphabet. They succeeded in obtaining possession 
of a great part of ancient Britain, and their 
language naturally took the place of the tongue of 
the original inhabitants—the Britains or Celts—and 
was known as the Anglo-Saxon. Before the arrival 
of the Anglo-Saxons, the Romans had been in Brit¬ 
ain more than four hundred years, so that a great 
many Latin words had already mingled with the 
Celtic. 

The Celtic words in the English language at 
present are mostly confined to the names of places. 
The number of words of Anglo-Saxon origin in the 
language is much less than is commonly supposed. 
Some authorities estimate it at about one-half; 
others still more. Most monosyllabic words are of 
Anglo-Saxon origin; while a large portion of words 
of two syllables, the great majority of words of 
three, and almost all words of four and more sylla- 


6 


Standard Literary Selections. 


bles come from Latin or Greek. It should be ob¬ 
served that words of Anglo-Saxon origin are mostly 
confined to prepositions and conjunctions, and 
words which signify ordinary ideas and actions, 
such as food, earth, can, do; while most words de¬ 
noting the higher operations of the mind and more 
intellectual ideas come directly or indirectly from the 
Latin or Greek; such as inspiration, science, mag¬ 
nanimity, perception. Celtic is still spoken in Wales, 
the highlands of Scotland, the Isle of Man, many 
parts of Ireland, and to some extent in Cornwall. 

In the ninth and tenth centuries the Danes in¬ 
vaded England, and many words from the language 
of the invaders found their way into the Saxon 
tongue. 

Again, after the Norman conquest in 1066 a large 
number of words of Latin origin were received 
through the Norman French. 

The Latin gave most of the terms used in the¬ 
ology, medicine, law, literature and politics, besides 
many in general use. The Greek supplied terms of 
science, philosophy, theology and arts. Military 
terms are mostly derived from the French, and mu¬ 
sical terms from the Italian. Some new words have 
come from the Spanish and German, others from 
Asia, Africa and America. 

The Anglo-Saxon was formerly inflected, though 
not so much as Latin and Greek; that is, the words 
had different forms to express the different numbers, 
cases and genders of nouns and pronouns, and per¬ 
sons, moods and tenses of verbs. An example of 
the old plural of nouns is the “en” in oxen and chil¬ 
dren, though the latter is a double plural, being 


Standard Literary Selections. 


7 


formed by adding “en” to childer—the old plural of 
child. Vixen is the only remaining example of a 
feminine ending in “en.” 

The growth of the English language after what 
is called the Saxon period may be divided into three 
stages, namely, Early, Middle and Modern English. 
The first extends from the middle of the thirteenth 
to the latter part of the fourteenth century; the 
Middle from the latter part of the fourteenth to the 
middle part of the sixteenth; the Modern from the 
beginning of the sixteenth to the present time. John 
Gower may be said to have introduced the first pe¬ 
riod, and Geoffrey Chaucer the second ; while a num¬ 
ber of writers, chief amongst them Spenser and 
Shakespeare, combined to introduce the third, which 
received its polish principally from Dryden, Pope, 
Steele and Addison. No one can have a thorough 
knowledge of the English language without studying 
its great authors, and being acquainted with the 
principal sources from which it is derived; and, 
strange as it may appear, one of the best ways of 
studying English is through Latin, French and 
Greek. 

PART II—SOLITUDE PREFERRED TO SOCIETY 

Duke senior: 

Now, my co-mates and brothers in exile, 

Hath not old custom made this life more sweet 
Than that of painted pomp ? Are not these woods 
More free from peril than the envious court? 

Here feel we not the penalty of Adam. 

The seasons’ difference,—as the icy fang 


8 


Standard Literary Selections. 


And churlish chiding of the winter’s wind, 

Which, when it bites and blows upon my body, 
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile and say, 

“This is no flattery”—these are counsellors 
That feelingly persuade me what I am. 

Sweet are the uses of adversity, 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head; 

And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything. 

—Shakespeare. 


LESSON II 

REUNITED 

Purer than thy own white snow, 

Nobler than thy mountains’ height; 

Deeper than the ocean’s flow, 

Stronger than thy own proud might; 

Oh Northland! to thy sister land, 

Was late thy mercy’s generous deed and grand. 

Nigh twice ten years, the sword was sheathed: 

Its mist of green o’er battle plain 
For nigh two decades Spring had breathed; 

And yet the crimson life-blood stain 
From passive swards had never paled, 

Nor fields, where all were brave and some had failed. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


9 


Between the Northland, bride of snow, 

And Southland, brightest sun’s fair bride. 

Swept, deepening ever in its flow, 

The stormy wake, in war’s dark tide: 

No hand might clasp across the tears 

And blood and anguish of our deathless years. 

When summer, like a rose in bloom, 

Had blossomed from the bud of Spring, 

Oh! who could deem the dews of doom 
Upon the blushing lips could cling? 

And who could believe its fragrant light 

Would e’er be freighted with the breath of blight? 

Yet o’er the Southland crept the spell, 

That e’en from out its brightness spread; 

And prostrate, powerless, she fell, 

Rachel-like, amid her dead. 

Her bravest, fairest, purest, best, 

The waiting grave would welcome as its guest. 

The Northland, strong in love, and great, 

Forgot the stormy days of strife; 

Forgot that souls, with dreams of hate 
Or unforgiveness, e’er were rife. 

Forgotten was each thought and hushed; 

Save—she was generous and her foe was crushed. 

No hand might clasp, from land to land; 

Yea! there was one to bridge the tide; 

For at the touch of Mercy’s hand 
The North and South stood side by side: 

The bride of Snow, the Bride of Sun, 

In Charity’s espousals are made one. 


10 


Standard Literary Selections. 


“Thou givest back my sons again,” 

The Southland to the Northland cries; 

“For all my dead, on battle plain, 

Thou biddest my dying now uprise: 

I still my sobs, I cease my tears, 

And thou has recompensed my anguished years. 


“Blessings on thine every wave, 

Blessings on thine every shore, 

Blessings that from sorrow save, 

Blessings giving more and more, 

For all thou gavest thy sister land, 

Oh Northland! in thy generous deed and grand.” 

—Father Ryan. 


LESSON III 

FORMS OF WATER 

Part I— Clouds, Rain and Rivers 

Every occurrence in nature is preceded by other 
occurrences which are its causes, and succeeded by 
others which are its effects. The human mind is not 
satisfied with observing and studying any natural 
occurrences alone, but takes pleasure in connecting 
every natural fact with what has gone before it, and 
with what is to come after it. 

Thus, when we enter upon the study of rivers 
and glaciers, our interest will be greatly augmented 



Standard Literary Selections. 


ii 


bv taking into account not only their actual appear¬ 
ances, but also their causes and effects. 

Let us trace a -river to its source. Beginning 
where it empties itself into the sea, and following it 
backwards, we find it from time to time joined by 
tributaries, which swell its waters. The river, of 
course, becomes smaller as these tributaries are 
passed. It shrinks first to a brook, then to a stream: 
this again divides itself into a number of smaller 
streamlets, ending in mere threads of water. These 
constitute the source of the river, and are usually 
found among hills. 

But it is quite plain that we have not yet reached 
the real beginning of the rivers. Whence do the ear¬ 
liest streams derive their waters? A brief residence 
among the mountains would prove to you that they 
are fed by rains. In dry weather you would find 
the steams feeble, sometimes, indeed, quite dried up. 
In wet weather you would see them foaming tor¬ 
rents. In general these streams lose themselves as 
little threads of water upon the hill sides; but some¬ 
times you may trace a river to a definite spring. The 
river Albula in Switzerland, for instance, rushes at 
its origin in considerable volume from a mountain 
side. But you very soon assure yourself that such 
springs are also fed by rain, which has percolated 
through the rocks or soil, and which, through some 
orifice that it has found or formed, comes to the 
light of day. 

But we cannot end here. Whence comes the 
rain which forms the mountain streams? Observa¬ 
tion enables you to answer the question. Rain does 
not come from a clear sky. It comes from clouds. 


12 


Standard Literary Selections. 


But what are clouds ? Is there nothing you are ac¬ 
quainted with which they resemble? You discover 
at once a likeness between them and the condensed 
steam of a locomotive. At every puff of the engine 
a cloud is projected into the air. Watch the cloud 
sharply: You notice that it first forms at a little dis¬ 
tance from the top of the funnel. Give close atten¬ 
tion and you will sometimes see a perfectly clear 
space between the funnel and the cloud. Through 
that clear space the thing which makes the cloud 
must pass. What, then, is this thing which at one 
moment is transparent and invisible, and at the next 
moment visible as a dense opaque cloud ? 

It is the steam or vapor of water from the boiler. 
Within the boiler this steam is transparent and in¬ 
visible; but to keep it in this invisible state a heat 
would be required as great as that within the boiler. 
When the vapor mingles with the cold air above the 
hot funnel it ceases to be vapor. Every bit of steam 
shrinks, when chilled, to a much more minute par¬ 
ticle of water. The liquid particles thus produced 
form a kind of water-dust of exceeding fineness, 
which floats in the air, and is called a cloud. 

Watch the cloud-banner from the funnel of a 
running locomotive; you see it growing gradually 
less dense. It finally melts away altogether, and if 
you continue your observations you will not fail to 
notice that the speed of its disappearance depends 
upon the character of the day. In humid weather 
the cloud hangs long and lazily in the air; in dry 
weather it is rapidly licked up. What has become of 
it ? It has been reconverted into true invisible vapor. 

The drier the air, and the hotter the air, the 


Standard Literary Selections. 


*3 


greater is the amount of cloud which can be thus 
dissolved in it. When the cloud first forms, its 
quantity is far greated than the air is able to main¬ 
tain in an invisible state. But as the cloud mixes 
gradually with a larger mass of air, it is more and 
more dissolved, and finally passes altogether from 
the condition of a finely-divided liquid into that of 
transparent vapor or gas. 

Make the lid of a kettle air-tight, and permit 
the steam to issue from the pipe; a cloud is precipi¬ 
tated in all respects similar to that issuing from the 
funnel of the locomotive. 

Permit the steam as it issues from the pipe to 
pass through the flame of a spirit-lamp, the cloud 
formed is instantly dissolved by the heat, and is not 
again precipitated. With a special boiler and a spe¬ 
cial nozzle, the experiment may be made more strik¬ 
ing, but not more instructive, than with the kettle. 

Look to your bed room windows when the 
weather is very cold outside; they sometimes stream 
with water derived from the condensation of the 
aqueous vapor from your own lungs. The windows 
of railway carriages in winter show this condensa¬ 
tion in a striking manner. Pour cold water into a 
dry drinking glass on a summer’s day: the outside 
surface of the glass becomes instantly dimmed by 
the precipitation of moisture. On a warm day you 
notice no vapor in front of your mouth, but on a cold 
day you form there a little cloud, derived from the 
condensation of the aqueous vapor from the lungs. 

To produce the cloud, in the case of the locomo¬ 
tive and the kettle, heat is necessary. By heating 
the water we first convert it into steam, and then by 


14 


Standard Literary Selections. 


chilling the steam we convert it into a cloud. Is 
there any fire in nature which produces the clouds of 
our atmosphere ? There is; the fire of the sun. 

Thus, by tracing backwards, without any break 
in the chain of occurrences, our river from its end to 
its real beginnings, we come at length to the sun. . 

There are, however, rivers which have sources 
somewhat different from those just mentioned. 
They do not begin by driblets on a hill side, nor can 
they be traced to a spring. Go, for example, to the 
mouth of the river Rhone, and trace it backwards 
to Lyons, where it turns to the east. Bending 
around by Chambery, you come at length to the 
Lake of Geneva, from which the river rushes, and 
which you might be disposed to regard as the source 
of the Rhone. But go to the head of the lake, and 
you find that the Rhone there enters it, that the lake 
is in fact a kind of expansion of the river. Follow 
this upwards; you find it joined by smaller rivers 
from the mountains right and left. Pass these, and 
push your journey higher still. You come at length 
to a huge mass of ice—the end of a glacier—which 
fills the Rhone valley, and from the bottom of the 
glacier the river rushes. In the glacier of the Rhone 
you thus find the source of the river Rhone. 

But, again, we have not reached the real begin¬ 
ning of the river. You soon convince yourself that 
this earliest water of the Rhone is produced by the 
melting of the ice. You get upon the glacier and 
walk upwards along it. After a time the ice disap¬ 
pears, and you come upon snow. If you are a com¬ 
petent mountaineer you may go to the very top of 
this great snow field, and if you cross the top and 


Standard Literary Selections. 


15 


descend at the other side you finally quit the snowj 
and get upon another glacier called the Trift, from 
the end of which rushes a river smaller than the 
Rhone. 

You soon learn that the mountain snow feeds the 
glacier. By some means or other the snow is con¬ 
verted into ice. But whence comes the snow ? Like 
the rain, it comes from the clouds, which, as before, 
can be traced to vapor raised by the sun. Without 
solar fire we could have no atmospheric vapor, with¬ 
out vapor no clouds, without clouds no snow, and 
without snow no glaciers. Curious, then, as the 
conclusion may be, the cold ice of the Alps has its 
origin in the heat of the sun. 

—John Tyndal. 


LESSON IV 

Alexander's feast, or the power of music 

Twas at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip’s warlike son— 

Aloft in awful state 
The godlike hero sate 
On his imperial throne; 

His valiant peers were placed around, 

Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound 
(So should desert in arms be crowned). 

The lovely Thais by his side 
Sate like a blooming eastern bride, 

In flower of youth and beauty’s pride;— 



16 Standard Literary Selections. 

Happy, happy, happy pair! 

None but the brave, 

None but the brave 
None but the brave deserves the fair! 

Timotheus, placed on high 
Amid the tuneful choir, 

With flying fingers touched the lyre; 
The trembling notes ascend the sky, 

And heavenly joys inspire. 

The song began from Jove, 

Who left his blissful seats above— 

Such is the mighty power of love. 

* * * 

The listening crowd admire the lofty sound: 

A present deity! they shout around: 

A present deity ! the vaulted roofs rebound! 

With ravished ears 
The monarch hears, 

Assumes the god, 

Affects to nod. 

And seems to shake the spheres. 

The praise of Bacchus then the sweet, musician 
sung, 

Of Bacchus ever fair and ever young: 

The jolly god in triumph comes, 

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums; 
Flushed with a purple grace 
He shows his honest face: 

Now gives the hautboys breath; he comes, he 
comes! 


Standard Literary Selections. 17 

Bacchus,, ever fair and.young, 

Drinking joys did first ordain, 

Bacchus’ blessings are a treasure, 

Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure, 

Rich the treasure, 

Sweet the pleasure, 

Sweet is pleasure after pain. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain, 
Fought all his battles o’er again, 

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he 
slew the slain! 

The master saw the madness rise, 

His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes; 

And, while he heaven and earth defied, 
Changed his hand and checked his pride. 

He chose a mournful Muse, 

Soft pity to infuse: 

He sung Darius great and good, 

By too severe a fate 
Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen! 

Fallen from his high estate. 

And weltering in his blood! 

Deserted at his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed, 

On the bare earth exposed he lies, 

With not a friend to close his eyes. 

With downcast looks the joyless victor sate 
Revolving in his altered soul 

The various turns of chance below; 

And now and then a sigh he stole, 

And tears began to flow. 


iS Standard Literary Selections. 

The mighty master smiled to see 
That love was in the next degree; 

’Twas but a kindred sound to move, 

For pity melts the mind to love. 

Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, 

Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 

War, he sung, is toil and trouble; 

Honour but an empty bubble; 

Never ending, still beginning, 

Fighting still, and still destroying; 

If the world be worth thy winning, 

Think, think it worth enjoying: 

* * * 

Now strike the golden lyre again : 

A louder yet, aVid yet a louder strain! 

Break his bands of sleep asunder 
And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. 
Hark, hark! the horrid sound 
Has raised up his head: 

As awaked from the dead, 

And amazed he stares around. 

Revenge, revenge, Timotheus cries, 

See the furies arise! 

See the snakes that they rear, 

How they hiss in their hair; 

And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! 
Behold a ghastly band, 

Each a torch in his hand! 

These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And unburied remain 
Inglorious on the plain ! 

Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew! 


Standard Literary Selections. 


19 


Behold how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes, 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 
The princes applaud with a furious joy, 

And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to de¬ 
stroy ; 

Thais led the way 
To light him to his prey, 

And like another Helen, fired another Troy! 

Thus, long ago, 

Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 

While organs yet were mute, 

Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
And sounding lyre 

Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 
At last divine Cecelia came, 

Inventress of the vocal frame; 

The sweet enthusiast from her sacred store • 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 

And added length to solemn sounds, 

With Nature’s mother-wit, and arts unknown 
before. 

Let old Timotheus yield the prize 
Or both divide the crown; 

He raised a mortal to the skies; 

She drew an angel down! 

—John Dryden. 


20 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON V 

THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES 

Let observation with extensive view 
Survey mankind from China to Peru; 

Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife, 

And watch the busy scenes of crowded life; 

Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate, 
O’erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate, 
Where wavering man, betray’d by vent’rous pride, 
To tread the dreary paths without a guide, 

As treach’rous phantoms in the mist delude, 

Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good; 

How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice, 
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice 
How nations sink by darling schemes oppress’d. 
When vengeance listens to the fool’s request. 

Fate wings with every wish th’ afflictive dart, 

Each gift of nature, and each grace of art; 

With fatal heat impetuous courage glows, 

With fatal sweetness elocution flows, 

Impeachment stops the speaker’s powerful breath, 
And restless fire precipitates on death. 

* * * 

The needy traveller, serene and gay, 

Walks the wild heath, and sings his toil away. 

Does envy seize thee? crush th’ upbraiding joy, 
Increase his riches, and his peace destroy: 

Now fears in dire vicissitude invade, 

The rustling brake alarms, and quivering shade, 


Standard Literary Selections. 


21 


Nor light nor darkness brings his pain relief, 

One shows the plunder, and one hides the thief. 

* * * 

In full-blown dignity, see Wolsey stand, 

Law in his voice, and fortune in his hand: 

To him the church, the realm, their powers consign, 
Through him the rays of regal bounty shine, 

Turn’d by his nod the stream of honour flows, 

His smile alone security bestows; 

Still to new heights his restless wishes tower, 

Claim leads to claim, and power advances power; 
Till conquest unresisted ceased to please, 

And rights submitted left him none to seize. 

At length his sovereign frowns—the train of state 
Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to hate: 
Where’er he turns, he meets a stranger’s eye, 

His suppliants scorn him, and his followers fly. 
Now drops at once the pride of awful state, 

The golden canopy, the glitt’ring plate, 

The regal palace, the luxurious board, 

The liveried army, and the menial lord. 

With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed, 

He seeks the refuge of monastic rest. 

Grief aids disease, remember’d folly stings, 

And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings. 

* * * 

On what foundation stands the warrior’s pride, 
How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide; 

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire, 

No dangers fright him, and no labours tire; 

O’er love, o’er fear, extends his wide domain, 


22 Standard Literary Selections. 

Unconquer’d lord of pleasure and of pain; 

No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, 

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; 
Behold surrounding kings their powers combine, 
And one capitulate, and one resign; 

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms 
vain, 

“Think nothing gain’d,” he cries, “till nought 
main: 

On Moscow’s walls till Gothic standards fly, 

And all be mine beneath the polar sky.” 

The march begins in military state, 

And nations on his eye suspended wait: 

Stem Famine guards the solitary coast, 

And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; 

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay: 
Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa’s day. 

The vanquish’d hero leaves his broken bands, 
And shows his miseries in distant lands; 
Condemn’d a needy suppliant to wait, 

While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. 

But did not Chance at length her error mend ? 
Did not subverted empire mark his end ? 

Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? 

Or hostile millions press him to the ground ? 

His fell was destined to a barren strand, 

A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; 

He left the name, at which the world grew pale, 

■" ’ A" , * * * 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 

But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime, 
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime, 


Standard Literary Selections. 23 

An age that melts with unperceived decay, 

And glides in modest innocence away; 

Whose peaceful day benevolence endears, 

Whose night congratulating conscience cheers, 

The gen’ral fav’rite, as the gen’ral friend: 

Such age there is, and who shall wish its end? 

Yet even on this her load Misfortune flings, 

To press the weary minutes’ flagging wings; 

New sorrow rises as the day returns, 

A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. 

Now kindred Merit fills the sable bier, 

Now lacerated Friendship claims a tear. 

Year chases year, decay pursues decay, 

Still drops some joy from with’ring life away; 

New forms arise, and different views engage. 
Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, 

Till pitying Nature signs the last release, 

And bids afflicted worth retire to peace. 

But few there are whom hours like these await, 
Who set unclouded in the gulfs of Fate. 

From Lydia’s monarch should the search descend, 
By Solon caution’d to regard his end, 

In life’s last scene what prodigies surprise, 

Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise? 

From Marlb’rough’s eyes the streams of dotage flow, 
And Swift expires a driv’ler and a show. 

— Dr. Samuel Johnson. 


24 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON VI 

PART I—ENTERPRISE OF AMERICAN COLONISTS 1775 

For some time past, Mr. Speaker, has the Old 
World been fed from the New. The scarcity which 
you have felt would have been a desolating famine, 
if this child of your old age,—America,—with a 
true filial piety, with a Roman charity, had not put 
the full breast of its youthful exuberance to the 
mouth of its exhausted parent. Turning from the 
agricultural resources of the Colonies, consider the 
wealth which they have drawn from the sea by their 
fisheries. The spirit in which that enterprising em¬ 
ployment has been exercised ought to raise your es¬ 
teem and admiration. Pray, Sir, what in the world 
is equal to it ? Pass by the other parts, and look at 
the manner in which the people of New England 
have- of late carried on the whale fishery. Whilst 
we follow them among the tumbling mountains of 
ice, and behold them penetrating into the deepest 
frozen recesses of Hudson’s Bay, and Davis’s Strait, 
whilst we are looking for them beneath the Arctic 
Circle, we hear that they have pierced into the op¬ 
posite region of Polar cold, that they are at the an¬ 
tipodes, and engaged under the frozen serpent of 
the South. Falkland Island, which seems too re¬ 
mote and romantic an object for the grasp of na¬ 
tional ambition, is but a stage and resting place in 
the progress of their victorious industry. Nor is 
the equinoctial heat more discouraging to them than 


Standard Literary Selections. 


25 


the accumulated winter of both the Poles. We know 
that whilst some of them draw the line and strike 
the harpoon on the coast of Africa, others run the 
longitude, and pursue their gigantic game along 
the coast of Brazil. No sea but what is vexed by 
their fisheries. No climate that is not witness to 
their toils. Neither the perseverance of Holland, nor 
the activity of France, nor the dexterous and firm 
sagacity of English enterprise, ever carried this most 
perilous mode of hardy industry to the extent to 
which it has been pushed by these recent People: a 
People who are still, as it were, but in the gristle, 
and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood. 

When I contemplate these things,—when I know 
that the Colonies in general owe little or nothing to 
any care of ours, and that they are not squeezed into 
this happy form by the constraints of a watchful 
and suspicious Government, but that, through a wise 
and salutary neglect, a generous nature has been 
suffered to take her own way to perfection,—when 
I reflect upon these effects, when I see how profitable 
they have been to us, T feel all the pride of power 
sink, and all presumption in the wisdom of human 
contrivances melt, and die away within me. My 
rigor relents. I pardon something to the spirit of 
liberty. 

—Edmund Burke. 

PART II—THE WISE MAN'S PRAYER 

Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain 

Which Heav’n may hear; nor deem religion vain. 

Still raise for good the supplicating voice, 


26 Standard Literary Selections. 

But leave to Heav’n the measure and the choice. 
Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar 
The secret ambush of a specious prayer; 

Implore His aid, in His decisions rest, 

Secure, whate’er He gives, He gives the best. 

Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires. 

And strong devotion to the skies aspires, 

Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind, 
Obedient passions, and a will resigned; 

For love, which scarce collective man can fill; 
For patience, sov’reign o’er transmuted ill; 

For faith, that, panting' for a happier seat, 

Counts death kind Nature’s signal of retreat: 

These goods for man the laws of Heav’n ordained ; 
These goods He grants, who grants the pow’r to 
gain; 

With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, 

And makes the happiness she does not find. 

— Dr. Samuel Johnson. 


LESSON VII 

PART I—ON AMERICAN TAXATION, APRIL 19, I774 

Could anything be a subject of more just alarm 
to America than to see you go out of the plain high¬ 
road of finance, and give up your most certain reve¬ 
nues and clearest interests, merely for the sake of 
insulting your Colonies ? No man ever doubted that 
the commodity of tea could bear an imposition of 
three-pence. But no commodity will bear three- 



Standard Literary. Selections. 


27 


pence, or will bear a penny, when the general feel¬ 
ings of men are irritated, and two millions of men 
are resolved not to pay. The feelings of the Colo¬ 
nies were formerly the feelings of Great Britain. 
Theirs were formerly the .feelings of Mr. Hampden, 
when called upon for the payment of twenty shill¬ 
ings. Would twenty shillings have ruined Mr. 
Hampden’s fortune? No! but the payment of half 
twenty shillings, on the principle it was demanded, 
would have made him a slave! It is the weight of 
that preamble, of which you are so fond, and not 
the weight of the duty, that the Americans are un¬ 
able and unwilling to bear. You are, therefore, at 
this moment, in the awkward situation of fighting 
for a phantom; a quiddity; a thing that wants not 
only a substance, but even a name; for a thing which 
is neither abstract right, nor profitable enjoyment. 

They tell you, sir, that your dignity is tied to it. 
I know not how it happens, but this dignity of yours 
is a terrible incumbrance to you; for it has of late 
been ever at war with your interest, your equity, and 
every idea of your policy. Show the thing you con¬ 
tend for to be reason, show it to be common sense, 
show it to be the means of obtaining some useful 
end, and then I am content to allow it what dignity 
you please. But what dignity is derived from the 
perseverance in absurdity, is more than I ever could 
. discern ! Let us, Sir, embrace some system or other 
before we end this session. Do you mean to tax 
America, and to draw a productive revenue from 
thence? If you do, speak out, name, fix, ascertain 
this revenue; settle its quantity; define its objects; 
provide for its collection; and then fight when you 


28 


Standard Literary Selections. 


have something to fight for. If you murder, rob; 
if you kill, take possession: and do not appear in the 
character of madmen, as well as assassins,—vio¬ 
lent, vindictive, bloody and tyrannical, without an 
object. But may better counsels guide you. 

—Edmund Burke. 

PART II-POLONIUS TO LAERTES 

My blessing with you ! 

And these few precepts in thy memory 

Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, 

Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar: 

The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel; 

But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in, 

Bear’t that th’ opposer may beware of thee. 

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; 

Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 

But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy: 

For the apparel oft proclaims the man, 

And they in France, of the best rank and station, 
Are of a most select and generous chief in that. 
Neither a borrower nor a lender be; 

For loan oft loses both itself and friend, 

And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 

This above all,—to thine own self be true, 

And it must follow, as the night the day, 

Thou canst not then be false to any man. 

— Shakespeare. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


29 


LESSON VIII 

PART I-THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 

The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, 
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; 
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the 
sea, 

When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. 

Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 
That host with their banners at sunset were seen; 
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath 
blown, 

That host on the morrow lay withered and strewn. 

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the 
blast, 

And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; 
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, 
And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew 
still! 

And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, 

But through it there rolled not the breath of his 
pride; 

And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. 

And there lay the rider distorted and pale, 

With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; 
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, 
The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown. 


30 


Standard Literary Selections. 


And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, 

And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; 

And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the 
sword, 

Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord! 

—Lord Byron. 

PART II-THE DYING GLADIATOR 

I see before me the Gladiator lie: 

He leans upon his hand,—his manly brow 
Consents to death, but conquers agony, 

And his drooped head sinks gradually low,— 

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow 
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 

Like the first of a thunder shower; and now 
The arena swims around him—he is gone, 

Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the 
wretch who won. 

He heard it, but he heeded not: his eyes 
Were with his heart, and that was far away; 

He recked not of the life he lost nor prize, 

But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 

There were his young barbarians all at play, 

There was their Dacian mother,—he, their sire, 
Butchered to make a Roman holiday,— 

All this rushed with his blood.—Shall he expire, 
And unavenged?—Arise, ye Goths, and glut your 
ire! 

—Lord Byron. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


3i 


LESSON IX 

PART I—RETURN OF BRITISH FUGITIVES 

I venture to prophesy, there are those now living 
who will see this favored land amongst the most 
powerful on earth,—able, Sir, to take care of her¬ 
self, without resorting to that policy, which is al¬ 
ways so dangerous, though sometimes unavoidable, 
of calling in foreign aid. Yes, Sir, they will see her 
great in arts and in arms,—her golden harvests 
waving over fields of immeasurable extent, her com¬ 
merce penetrating the most distant seas, and her 
cannon silencing the vain boasts of those who now 
proudly afifect to rule the waves. But, Sir, you 
must have men ,—you cannot get along without 
them. Those heavy forests of valuable timber 
under which your lands are groaning, must be 
cleared away. Those vast riches which cover the face 
of your soil, as well as those which lie hid in its 
bosom, are to be developed and gathered only by the 
skill and enterprise of men. Your timber, Sir, must 
be worked up into ships, to transport the produc¬ 
tions of the soil from which it has been cleared. 
Then you must have commercial men and commer¬ 
cial capital, to take off your productions and find 
the best markets for them abroad. Your great 
want, Sir, is the want of men; and these you must 
have, and will have speedily, if you are wise. 

Do you ask how you are to get them? Open 
your doors, Sir, and they will come in! The popu¬ 
lation of the Old World is full to overflowing. The 
population is ground, too, by the oppressions of the 


32 Standard Literary Selections. 

* 

Governments under which they live. Sir, they are 
already standing on tiptoe upon their native shores, 
and looking to your coasts with a wistful and long¬ 
ing eye. They see here a land blessed with natural 
and political advantages, which are not equalled by 
those of any other country upon earth ;—a land on 
which a gracious Providence hath emptied the horn 
of abundance,—a land over which peace hath now 
stretched forth her white wings, and where Con¬ 
tent and Plenty lie down at every door. 

Sir, they see something still more attractive than 
all this. They see a land in which Liberty hath 
taken up her abode,—that Liberty whom they had 
considered as a fabled goddess, existing only in the 
fancies of poets. They see her here a real divinity— 
her altars rising on every hand, throughout these 
happy States; her glories chanted by three millions 
of tongues, and the whole region smiling under her 
blessed influence. Sir, let but this, our celestial 
goddess, Liberty, stretch forth her fair hand tow¬ 
ards the people of the Old World,—tell them to, 
come, and bid them welcome,—and you will see 
them pouring in from the North, from the South, 
from the East, and from the West. Your wilder¬ 
nesses will be cleared and settled, your deserts will 
smile, your ranks will be filled, and you will soon be 
in a condition to defy the powers of any adversary. 

But gentlemen object to any accession from 
Great Britain, and particularly to the return of the 
British refugees. Sir, I feel no objection to the re¬ 
turn of those deluded people. They have, to be 
sure, mistaken their own interests most wofully; 
and most wofully have they suffered the punishment 


Standard Literary Selections. 


33 


due to their offenses. But the relations which we 
bear to them, and to their native country, have now 
changed. Their King hath acknowledged our inde¬ 
pendence ; the quarrel is over, peace hath returned, 
and found us a free people. Let us have the mag¬ 
nanimity, Sir, to lay aside our antipathies and prej¬ 
udices, and consider the subject in a political light. 
Those are an enterprising moneyed people. They 
will be serviceable in taking off the surplus produces 
of our lands, and supplying us- with necessaries dur¬ 
ing the infant state of our manufacturies. Even if 
they be inimical to us in point of feeling and prin¬ 
ciple, I can see no objection, in a political view, in 
making them tributary to our advantage. And, as 
I have no prejudices to prevent my making this use 
of them, so, Sir, I have no fear of any mischief that 
they can do us. Afraid of them !—What, Sir, shall 
we, who have laid the proud British lion at our feet, 
now be afraid of his whelps ? 

—Patrick Henry. 

PART II—THE LOVE OF COUNTRY 

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 

Who never to himself hath said, 

This is my own, my native land! 

Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, 

As home his footsteps he hath turned 
From wandering on a foreign strand? 

If such there breathe, go, mark him well; 

For him no Minstrel raptures swell; 

High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; 


34 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Despite these titles, power, and pelf, 

The wretch, concentred all in self. 

Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 

And, doubly dying, shall go down 

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, 

Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. 

—Sir Walter Scott. 


LESSON X 

THE VILLAGE OF GRAND PRE 

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of 
Minas, 

Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand- 
Pre 

Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched 
to the eastward, 

Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 
without number. 

Dikes,That the hands of the farmers had raised with 
labor incessant, 

Shut out the turbulent tides; but at stated seasons 
the flood-gates 

Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will 
o’er the meadows. 

West and south there were fields of flax, and or¬ 
chards and cornfields 

Spreading afar and unfenced o’er the plain; and 
away to the northward 



Standard Literary Selections. 


35 


Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on the 
mountains 

Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 
mighty Atlantic 

Looked on the happy valley, but ne’er from their 
station descended. 

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Aca¬ 
dian village. 

Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak 
and of hemlock, 

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the reign 
of the Henries. 

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; 
and gables projecting 

Over the basement below protected and shaded the 
doorway. 

There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 
brightly the sunset 

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on 
the chimneys, 

Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and 
in kirtles- 

Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spinning 

- • the golden 

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 
within doors 

Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels 
and the songs of the maidens. 

Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, 
and the children 

Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to 
bless them. 


36 Standard Literary Selections. 

Reverend walked he among them; and up rose ma¬ 
trons and maidens, 

Hailing his slow approach with words of affection¬ 
ate welcome. 

Then came the laborers home from the field, and 
serenely the sun sank 

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
from the belfry 

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of 
the village 

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense 
ascending, 

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace 
and contentment. 

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 
farmers,— 

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were 
they free irom 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the vice 
of republics. 

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars to 
their windows; 

But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts 
of the owners; 

There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in 
abundance. 




Standard Literary Selections. 


37 


PART I—BENEDICT AND EVANGELINE 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer the 
Basin of Minas, 

Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 
Grand-Pre, 

Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, directing 
his household, 

Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride of 
the village. 

Stalworth and stately in form was the man of 
seventy winters; 

Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered with 
snow-flakes; 

White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks as 
brown as the oak leaves. 

Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 
summers. 

Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on the 
thorn by the wayside, 

Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 
brown shade of her tresses! 

Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that feed 
in the meadows. 

When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers at 
noontide 

Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah! fair in sooth was 
the maiden. 

Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while the 
bell from its turret 

Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 
with his hyssop 

Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings 
upon them, 


38 Standard Literary Selections. 

Down the long street she passed, with her chaplet of 
beads and her missal, 

Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, 
and the ear-rings, 

Brought in the olden time from France, and since, 
as an heirloom, 

Handed down from mother to child, through long 
generations. 

But a celestial brightness—a more ethereal beauty— 

Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, 
after confession, 

Homeward serenely she walked with God’s benedic¬ 
tion upon her. 

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing of 
exquisite music. 


part 11—evangeline’s home 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the 
farmer 

Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and 
a shady 

Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine 
wreathing around it. 

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; 
and a footpath 

Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in 
the meadow. 

Under the sycamore tree were hives overhung bv a 
penthouse. 

Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the 
roadside, 


Standard Literary Selections. 


39 


Built o’er a box for the poor, or the blessed image 
of Mary. 

Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well 
with its moss-grown 

Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for 
the horses. 

Shielding the house from storms, on the north, 
were the barns and the farm-yard, 

There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the an¬ 
tique ploughs and the harrows; 

There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in 
his feathered seraglio, 

Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, 
with the selfsame 

Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent 
Peter. 

Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a 
village. In each one 

Far o’er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a 
staircase, 

Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous 
corn-loft. 

There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and in¬ 
nocent inmates 

Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant 
breezes 

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of 
mutation. 


40 


Standard Literary Selections. 


PART III—EVANGELINE'S EARLY LIFE 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer 
of Grand-Pre 

Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed 
his household. 

Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened 
his missal, 

Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest 
devotion; 

Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem 
of her garment! 

Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness 
befriended, 

And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of 
her footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
knocker of iron; 

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the 
village, 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as 
he whispered 

Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 
music. 

But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was 
welcome; 

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black¬ 
smith, 

Who was a mighty man in the villlage, and hon¬ 
ored of all men; 

For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and 
nations, 

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by 
the people. 


Standard Literary Selections. 41 

Basil was Benedict’s friend. Their children from 
earliest childhood 

Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father 
Felician, 

Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught 
them their letters 

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 
church and the plain-song. 

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson 
completed, 

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the 
blacksmith. 

There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes 
to behold him 

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a 
plaything, 

Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the 
tire of the cart-wheel 

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of 
cinders. 

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gather¬ 
ing darkness 

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 
every cranny and crevice, 

Warm by the forge within they watched the labor¬ 
ing bellows, 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in 
the ashes, 

Merrily laughed and said they were nuns going 
into the chapel. 

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of 
the eagle, 


42 


Standard Literary Selections, 

Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o’er 
the meadow. 

Oft in the barns they climed to the populous nests 
on the rafters, 

Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which 
the swallow 

Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight 
of its fledglings; 

Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of 
the swallow! 

Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer 
were children. 

He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face 
of the morning, 

Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 
thought into action. 

She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of 
a woman. 

“Sunshine of Saint Eulalie” was she called; for that 
was the sunshine 

Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 
orchards with apples; 

She, too, would bring to her husband’s house delight 
and abundance, 

Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children. 

— Longfellow. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


43 


LESSON XI 

PART I-ARRIVAL OF THE BRITISH 

So passed the morning away. And lo! with a sum¬ 
mons sonorous 

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the mead¬ 
ows a drum beat. 

Thronged ere long was the church with men. With¬ 
out, in the churchyard, 

Waited the women. They stood by the graves, and 
hung on the headstones 

Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh 
from the forest. 

Then came the guard from the ships, and marching 
proudly among them 

Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dis¬ 
sonant clangor 

Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from ceil¬ 
ing and casement,— 

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponderous 
portal 

Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will of 
the soldiers. 

Then uprose their commander, and spake from the 
steps of the altar, 

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the royal 
commission. 

“You are convened this day,” he said, “by his Maj¬ 
esty’s orders. 

Clement and kind has he been: but how you have 
answered his kindness, 


44 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Let your own hearts reply! To my natural make 
and my temper 

Painful the task is I do, which to you I know must 
be grievous. 

Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will of 
our monarch: 

Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and cat¬ 
tle of all kinds 

Forfeited be to the crown; and that you yourselves 
from this province 

Be transported to other lands. God grant you may 
dwell there 

Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable 
people! 

Prisoners now I declare you; for such is his Maj¬ 
esty’s pleasure!” 

As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice of 
summer, 

Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of 
the hailstones 

Beats down the farmer’s corn in the field and shat¬ 
ters his windows, 

Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 
thatch from the house-roofs, 

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their en¬ 
closures ; 

So on the hearts of the people descended the words 
of the speaker. 

Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, 
and then rose 

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and anger, 

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed to 
the doorway. 


Standard Literary Selections. 45 

Vain was the hope of escape; and cries and fierce 
imprecations 

Rang through the house of prayer; and high o’er 
the heads of the others 

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil the 
blacksmith, 

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the billows. 

Flushed was his face and distorted with passion; 
and wildly he shouted,— 

“Down with the tyrants of England! We never 
have sworn them allegiance! 

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our 
homes and our harvests!” 

More he fain would have said, but the merciless 
hand of a soldier 

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him down 
to the pavement. 

PART II—FATHER FELICIAN PREVENTS A RIOT 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry con¬ 
tention, 

Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 
Felician 

Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the steps 
of the altar. 

Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed 
into silence 

All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake to his 
people; 

Deep were his tones and solemn; in accents meas¬ 
ured and mournful 

Spake he, as, after the tocsin’s alarm, distinctly 
the clock strikes. 


46 Standard Literary Selections. 

“What is this that ye do, my children ? What mad¬ 
ness has seized you ? 

Forty years of my life have I labored among you, 
and taught you, 

Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one another! 

Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and prayers 
and privations? 

Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love and 
forgiveness ? 

This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and would 
you profane it 

Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 
with hatred? 

Lo! where the crucified Christ from his cross is 
gazing upon you! 

See! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and 
holy compassion! 

Hark! how those lips still repeat the prayer, ‘O 
Father forgive them!’ 

Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 
wicked assail us, 

Let us repeat it now, and say, ‘O Father forgive 
them!’ ” 

■ Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 
hearts of his people 

Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded the 
passionate outbreak, 

While they repeated his prayer, and said, “O Father 
forgive them!” 

PART III—BURNING OF THE ACADIAN HOMES 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in autumn 
the blood-red 


Standard Literary Selections. 


4 7 


Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and o’er 
the horizon 

Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon moun¬ 
tain and meadow, 

Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 
shadows together. 

Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs 
of the village, 

Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships that 
lay in the roadstead. 

Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes of 
flame were 

Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like the 
quivering hands of a martyr. 

Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burning 
thatch, and, uplifting, 

Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from a 
hundred house-tops 

Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame in¬ 
termingled. 

j These things beheld in dismay the crowd on the 
shore and on shipboard, 

Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud* in 
their anguish, 

‘‘.We .shall behold no more' our homes in rtlie village 
of Grand-Pre!” 

Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the 
farm-yards, 

Thinking the day had dawned; and anon the lowing 
of cattle 

Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of dogs 
interrupted. 


4 8 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the 
sleeping encampments 

Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt the 
Nebraska, 

When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with the 
speed of the whirlwind, 

Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to the 
river. 

Such was the sound that arose on the night, as the 
herds and the horses 

Broke through their folds and fences, and madly 
rushed o’er the meadows. 

PART IV-DEATH OF BENEDICT 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, the 
priest and the maiden 

Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 
widened before them; 

And as they turned at length to speak to their silent 
companion, 

Lo! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 
abroad on the sea-shore 

Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had 
departed. 

Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and the 
maiden 

Knelt at her father’s side, and wailed aloud in her 
terror, 

Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head on 
his bosom. 

Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 
slumber; 


Standard Literary Selections. 


49 


And when she woke from the trance, she beheld 
a multitude near her. 

Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully 
gazing upon her, 

Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest com¬ 
passion. 

Still the blaze of the burning vilage illumined the 
landscape, 

Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the 
faces around her, 

And like the day of doom it seemed to her wavering 
senses. 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the 
people,— 

“Let us bury him here by the sea. When a happier 
season 

Brings us again to our homes from the unknown 
land of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the 
churchyard.” 

Such were the words of the priest. And there in 
haste by the seaside, 

Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 
torches, 

But without bell or book, they buried the farmer of 
Grand-Pre. 

And as the voice of the priest repeated the service 
of sorrow, 

Lo! with a mournful sound, like the voice of a vast 
congregation, 

Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar 
with the dirges. 


50 


Standard Literary Selections. 


’Twas the returning tide, that afar from the waste 
of the ocean, 

With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and 
hurrying landward. 

Then recommenced once more the stir and noise of 
embarking; 

And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed out of 
the harbor, 

Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and the 
village in ruins. 

TART V—EVANGELINE MEETS GABRIEL 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of 
wonder, 

Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, while 
a shudder 

Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flow¬ 
erets dropped from her fingers, 

And from her eyes and cheeks the light and bloom 
of the morning. 

Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such 
terrible anguish, 

That the dying heard it, and started up from their 
pillows. 

On the pallet before her was stretched the form of 
an old man. 

Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that shaded 
his temples; 

But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for a 
moment 

Seemed to assume once more the forms of its 
earlier manhood; 


Standard Literary Selections. 51 

So are wont to be changed the faces of those who 
are dying. 

Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of the 
fever, 

As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had be¬ 
sprinkled its portals, 

That the Angel of Death might see the sign, and 
pass over. 

Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 
exhausted 

Seemed to be sinking down through infinite depths 
in the darkness, 

Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and 
sinking. 

Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 
reverberations, 

Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush 
that succeeded 

Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 
saint-like, 

“Gabriel! O my beloved!” and died away into 
silence. 

Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the home of 
his childhood; 

Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers among 
them, 

Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walk¬ 
ing under their shadow, 

As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in his 
vision. 

Tears came into his eyes; and as slowly he lifted 
his eyelids, 


52 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt by 
his bedside. 

Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the ac¬ 
cents unuttered 

Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what his 
tongue would have spoken. 

Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling 
beside him, 

Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 
bosom. 

Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly 
sank into darkness, 

As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at 
a casement. 


PART VI—DEATH OF GABRIEL 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, and the 
sorrow, 

All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 
longing, 

All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 
patience! 

And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head to 
her bosom, 

Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, “Father, 
I thank Thee!” 


PART VII—THE LAST OF THE ACADIANS 

Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from 
its shadow, 


Standard Literary Selections. 


53 


Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers are 
sleeping. 

Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 
churchyard, 

In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and un¬ 
noticed. 

Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside 
them. 

Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are at 
rest and forever, 

Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no longer 
are busy, 

Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 
ceased from their labors, 

Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have com¬ 
pleted their journey! 

Still stands the forest primeval; but under the 
shade of its branches 

Dwells another race, with other customs and lan¬ 
guage. 

Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 
Atlantic 

Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers from 
exile 

Wandered back to their native land to die in its 
bosom. 

In the fisherman’s cot the wheel and the loom are 
still busy; 

Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their 
kirtles of homespun, 

And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline’s story, 


54 


Standard Literary Selections. 


While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, 
neighboring ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail 
of the forest. 

— Longfellow. 


LESSON XII 

FOR INDEPENDENCE, 1 776 

The time will certainly come when the fated 
separation between the mother country and these 
Colonies must take place, whether you will or no; for 
so it is decreed by the very nature of things,—by the 
progressive increase of our population, the fertility 
of our soil, the extent of our territory, the industry 
of our countrymen, and the immensity of the ocean 
which separates the two countries. And, if this be 
true, as it is most true,—who does not see that the 
sooner it takes place, the better; that it would be the 
height of folly, not to seize the present occasion, 
when British injustice has filled all hearts with in¬ 
dignation, inspired all minds with courage, united 
all opinions in one and put arms in every hand? 
And how long must we traverse three thousand 
miles of a stormy sea, to solicit of arrogant and in¬ 
solent men either counsels or commands to regulate 
our domestic affairs? From what we have already 
achieved, it is very easy to presume what we shall 
hereafter accomplish. Experience is the source of 
sage counsels, and liberty is the mother of great 



Standard Literary Selections. 


55 


men. Have you not seen the enemy driven from 
Lexington by citizens armed and assembled in one 
day? Already their most celebrated generals have 
yielded in Boston to the skill of ours. Already 
their seamen, repulsed from our coast, wander over 
the ocean, the sport of tempests, and the prey of 
famine. Let us hail the favorable omen, and fight, 
not for the sake of knowing on what terms we are 
to be the slaves of England, but to secure to our¬ 
selves a free existence, to found a just and inde¬ 
pendent Government. 

Why do we longer delay,—why still deliberate? 
Let this most happy day give birth to the American 
Republic. Let her arise, not to devastate and con¬ 
quer, but to reestablish the reign of peace and of 
the laws. The eyes of Europe are fixed upon us; 
she demands of us a living example of freedom, that 
may contrast, by the felicity of the citizens, with the 
ever-increasing tyranny which desolates her polluted 
shores. She invites us to prepare an asylum where 
the unhappy may find solace, and the persecuted 
repose. She entreats us to cultivate a propitious 
soil, where that generous plant which first sprang 
up and grew in England, but is now withered by 
the poisonous blasts of Scottish tyranny, may revive 
and flourish, sheltering under its salubrious and in¬ 
terminable shade all the unfortunate of the human 
race. This is the end presaged by so many omens: 
—by our first victories; by the present ardor and 
union; by the fight of Howe, and the pestilence 
which broke out among Dunmore’s people; by the 
very winds which baffled the enemy’s fleet and trans¬ 
ports, and that terrible tempest which engulfed seven 


56 Standard Literary Selections. 

hundred vessels upon the coasts of Newfoundland. 
If we are not this day wanting in our duty to coun¬ 
try, the names of the American Legislators will be 
placed, by posterity, at the side of those of Theseus, 
of Lycurgus, of Romulus, of Numa, of the three 
Williams of Nassau, and of all those whose mem¬ 
ory has been, and will be, forever dear to virtuous 
men and good citizens! 

—Richard Henry Lee. 


LESSON XIII 

JOAN OF ARC 

The life and character of Joan of Arc, “The 
Maid of Orleans,” is without a parallel in history. 
She is the queen of heroines and an everlasting 
honor to Christian womanhood. She is the grand¬ 
est and noblest figure in the history of France, which 
could once truly boast of being a nation of fair 
women and gallant men. 

Joan was born in the little hamlet of Domremy in 
1412. Her opportunities for education were scant. 
She told her questioners once that she did not 
know A from B. Her only teachers were her mother 
and her pastor. She knew her prayers, the princi¬ 
pal truths of her religion, her duties to God, and 
unlike many who make greater pretentions to edu¬ 
cation, she was assiduous in minding her own busi¬ 
ness. She assisted her mother in the duties of the 
home and it is commonly believed she tended her 



Standard Literary Selections. 57 

father’s flocks in the pastures. She is consequently 
sometimes called the shepherd maid. 

The years of her early childhood were unevent¬ 
ful and happy. The brightness of God’s sunshine, 
which only innocence and true religion can give, 
was in her heart. France, her native land, was at 
this time sorely distressed. Charles VI. of France 
had made a treaty with Henry V. of England by 
which the two kingdoms were united, thus depriv¬ 
ing his son, the Dauphin, afterwards Charles VII., 
of his inheritance. 

The Dauphin declared war on the two kings. 
The greatest part of his soldiers came from Castile 
and Scotland. For four years the fortunes of war 
were against him. He had almost abandoned hope, 
and the people who remained faithful to him had 
almost given up in despair. Those who loved their 
native land bewailed their country’s fate and poured 
forth prayers for her deliverance. Young Joan 
was among the number. 

Thus occupied in thought, about the age of thir¬ 
teen, she saw a clear light one June day, between 
her father’s cottage and the church, and at the same 
time a voice said, “Jeanne, be a good and prudent 
child; go often to church.” This was the first of 
those supernatural communications of which many 
were to follow. The vision and the voice filled her 
untutored mind with horror and confusion, but not 
with vanity. 

When the impressions of the first supernatural 
event became less vivid, St. Michael, the prince 
of the heavenly host, revealed himself and 
said to her, “Jeanne, go to the succour of the King 


58 Standard Literary Selections. 

of France, and render to him his kingdom.” She 
was commanded to go to M. de Baudricourt, gov¬ 
ernor of Vaucouleurs, who would conduct her to the 
king. She was also promised the assistance of St. 
Margaret and St. Catharine for her guidance and 
counsel. Those saints appeared to her frequently 
afterwards. 

When she became convinced that her heavenly 
messages were genuine, she experienced no little 
difficulty in making others believe the same. 

The first intimation she gave of them was to 
her uncle, Durand Laxort, while visiting his home. 
As she was his special favorite, he received her sur¬ 
prising communication with kindness and caution, 
and endeavored to obtain an audience for her with 
the governor, M. de Baudricourt. 

This gruff old soldier laughed at the story of 
Durand as a piece of nonsense. A little while later 
in the same year Joan succeeded in having an inter¬ 
view with the governor, who listened respectfully to 
what she had to say, but took no action. She prom¬ 
ised that she would have the Dauphin crowned in 
spite of his enemies. Joan returned to her home, 
and in a few months after Orleans was besieged by 
the English. The Dauphin was prepared to fly if 
Orleans fell. The voices did not cease, but urged 
Joan to raise the siege of Orleans. 

Joan at last left her father’s home forever. Her 
popularity and fame had grown immensely. Bv the 
people she was looked upon as the virgin from Lor¬ 
raine who would deliver France from her enemies 
in accordance with a time-honored prophecy. She 
secured another interview with M. de Baudricourt, 


Standard Literary Selections. 59 

and this time convinced him that her mission was 
all she claimed it to be by relating an account of the 
defeat inflicted on the French at the battle of the 
“Herrings.” Her account was immediately verified 
by the arrival of the king’s messenger. 

The governor forthwith gave his sanction for a 
journey to the king at Chinon. He appointed 
guards and two knights to accompany her, and made 
her a gift of a sword. The city of Vaucouleurs pre¬ 
sented her with a horse and a suit of light armor. 
Thus arrayed and accompanied by the good knights, 
who swore to defend her with their lives, she set 
off on her journey across the country from east to 
west, which lasted eleven days. During this jour¬ 
ney with its many perils, her calmness, piety and 
trust in Providence were the edification and encour¬ 
agement of all who accompanied her. Whenever 
she reached an Abbey on the way she rested and 
heard Mass, and she regretted that she could not 
hear it every day. 

When Joan reached Chinon, Charles and his 
court were puzzled to know whether they should 
treat her as a sorceress or as one inspired. 
When the king consented to receive her she 
convinced him of the true character of her 
wonderful mission by solving a doubt which 
had long disturbed his soul and which he 
had never breathed to any human being. Before 
her entry the king descended from his throne and 
seated one of the courtiers in his place, while he 
himself mingled with the throng. Nevertheless, 
when Joan entered she paid no attention to the 
person on the throne, but went directly to Charles 


6o 


Standard Literary Selections. 


in the midst of the throng, and kneeling before him 
thus addressed him: “Gentle Dauphin, I am called 
Jeanne la Pucelle. I am sent to you by the King of 
Heaven to tell you that you shall be annointed and 
crowned at Rheims, and shall be the lieutenant of the 
King of Heaven, who is the true King of France.” 

In order to satisfy the objections of a number 
of French ecclesiastics, some of whom were friendly 
and some inimical to the maid, the king appointed 
two bodies, one of bishops, another of the doctors of 
Poitiers, to investigate the case. After a most 
searching investigation and examination of her 
whole life from childhood, both tribunals reported 
favorably, saying they found her in every respect a 
true Christian and sincere Catholic; that she an¬ 
swered the questions as one inspired, and that con¬ 
sidering her holy life and reputation and the ex¬ 
treme condition of Orleans, the king should accept 
her services. 

In preparing for the deliverance of Orleans Joan 
had a banner made according to a special design re¬ 
vealed to her. On one side was our Savior, holding 
the globe in his hands, with an angel on each side 
of him, and the inscription Jesus, Maria; on the re¬ 
verse, the crown of France, held bv two angels. 
Fearing the great corruption among the soldiers 
might provoke the anger of God, she persuaded all 
to go to confession and communion. Joan set out for 
the relief of Orleans with a convoy of about 
eight or nine thousand men. Although the English 
were protected by about sixty towers, they fell one 
after another before the French, encouraged by 
Joan, who was always in the vanguard waving her 


Standard Literary Selections. 6i 

snow-white banner. The siege of seven months was 
raised, and Joan, with the people and the whole 
army, gave thanks to God. After Orleans, the French 
won the battles of Jargeau and Patay, and as 
Charles marched with an increasing army towards 
Rheims, city after city opened its gates to him. He 
was finally crowned on Sunday, July 8, 1429. At 
this time Joan was only seventeen years old. 

In the following year Joan was taken prisoner 
by the Burgundians, the allies of the English, in a 
sally on one of their posts in Compiegne, in which 
the French were defeated. The joy of the English 
knew no bounds, for they feared the maid more than 
the whole French army. 

The English handed her over to be tried by a 
body of ecclesiastics partial to themselves and un¬ 
true to their king and country. The sentence of this 
body was approved by the University of Paris, 
mostly composed of English partisans, which de¬ 
termined “that this Joan was superstitious, a sor¬ 
ceress of the devil, a blasphemer of God and his 
saints, a schismatic, and guilty of many errors 
against the faith of Jesus Christ.” The letter of the 
English king cO the Duke of Burgundy continues, 
“Proving obstinate, she was delivered over to the 
secular arm, which instantly condemned her to be 
burnt.” The letter ends with the blood-curdling 
words: 

“She was publicly led to the old market-place in 
Rouen, and there burned in presence of the people.” 

Thus was hounded to death at the tender age of 
nineteen years one of the sweetest, purest and 
noblest characters that ever won a crown of praise 


62 


Standard Literary Selections. 


for the brow of womanhood. Her foul death is an 
everlasting disgrace to the pusillanimous king for 
whom she gained a crown and kingdom, but who in 
return did not move a finger to protect her in the 
days of adversity; it is one of the darkest blots on 
the history of England and marks the bravery of 
Englishmen with the indelible stigma of shame. 

As the clouds of smoke ascended and the vol¬ 
umes of flame leaped up around her she was heard 
to cry out: “Yes, my voices were of God,” and 
then with the sweet, consoling name of Jesus on 
her lips, her head hung down upon her breast and 
the pure soul of France’s noblest daughter had 
winged its way to its God. In 1456, under Calixtus 
III., her honor was vindicated by commissioners ap¬ 
pointed by that pontiff to investigate her case. The 
sentence of 1431 was publicly burned and revoked. 
She has been recently declared venerable bv Leo 
XIII., and the time may not be far distant when she 
will be honored as the national saint of France. Her 
life shows us that the best may suffer, that the wicked 
may succeed for a time, but virtue and innocence 
must finally triumph. 


LESSON XIV 

ESTHER PLEADING FOR HER NATION 

Esther. — O my sovereign King! Behold me in 
thy presence, trembling and alone. A thousand times 
in my childhood, my father told me that thou hadst 



Standard Literary Selections. 63 

formed a sacred alliance with our race, when, to 
make a nation agreeable in thy sight, it pleased thy 
love to select our forefathers. Thou hast ever prom¬ 
ised them by thy sacred word a posterity without 
end. Alas! this ungrateful people has despised thy 
law; the cherished nation has violated its trust; it 
has repudiated its spouse and father, to render an 
adulterous honor to other gods. Now it is enslaved 
beneath the yoke of strange masters. But not 
content with enslaving us, they seek to butcher 
us. Our haughty conquerors, mocking our tears, 
attribute their victories to their gods, and seek 
to-day with one fatal blow to wipe out thy name, 
thy people and thy altars. 

How, then, could a perfidious race after such 
wonderful expressions of Thy care frustrate the 
promise of thy oracles, ravish to mortals thy dearest 
gift, the holy One promised by Thee and awaited by 
us? No, no, permit not this savage people, intoxi¬ 
cated with our blood, to silence our tongues, which 
alone in the entire universe proclaim thy goodness; 
and confound the honor of all those gods which 
never existed. 

As for me whom thou dost keep among these 
infidels, thou knowest how much I hate their 
criminal festivities, and how I rank as profanations 
their banquets, their feasts and their libations; that 
even this pomp to which I am condemned, this fillet 
with which I must appear adorned, on those solem¬ 
nities dedicated to pride, when in private and alone 
I trample beneath my feet, that I prefer ashes to 
these vain ornaments, and have no pleasure but in 
the tears which thou seest me shed. I awaited the 


64 Standard Literary Selections. 

moment marked in thy decree, to dare embrace the 
interests of thy nation. That moment has come. 
My prompt obedience goes to face the presence of a 
redoubtable king. It is for thee I go. Accompany 
me before this fierce lion who knows thee not, com¬ 
mand that in seeing me his rage be softened, and 
lend to my words a charm which will please him. 
Storms, winds, the heavens are subject to thee: 
turn, in short, his fury against our enemies. 

— Racine. 

Esther, Act I, Scene IV. 


LESSON XV. 

THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS 

On the deck stood Columbus; the ocean’s expanse, 
Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. 

“Back to Spain !” cry his men ; “Put the vessel about! 
We venture no further through danger and doubt.” 
“Three days, and I give you a world!” he replied; 
“Bear up, my brave comrades; three days shall 
decide.” 

“He sails,—but no token of land is in sight ;• 

He sails,—but the day shows no more than the 
night;— 

On, onward he sails, while in vain o’er the lee 
The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea. 

The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o’er 
The rudder which creaks mid the billowy roar; 



Standard Literary Selections. 


65 


He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast, 
And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the 
mast. 

The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies, 
And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified 
eyes; 

But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the 
night, 

Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. 
“Columbus! ’tis day, and the darkness is o’er.” 
“Day! and what dost thou see?”—”Sky and ocean. 
No more!” 

The second day’s past, and Columbus is sleeping, 
While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping; 

“Shall he perish ?” “Ay! death!” is the barbarous 
cry, 

“He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must 
die!” 

Ungrateful and blind!-—shall the world-linking sea 
He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be? 

Shall the sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves, 
Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye 
craves ? 

The corse of an humble adventurer, then; 

One day later,—Columbus, the first among men! 

But, hush! he is dreaming!—A sail on the main, 

At the distant horizon is parted in twain, 

And now on his dreaming eye,—rapturous sight! 
Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of 
night. 

O, vision of glory! how dazzling it seems! 


66 


Standard Literary Selections. 


How glistens the verdure! how sparkle the streams! 
How blue the far mountains! how glad the green 
isles! 

And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with 
smiles! 

“Joy! joy!” cried Columbus, “this region is mine! ' 
Ah! not e’en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine! 


But, lo! his dream changes !—a vision less bright 
Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight. 
The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band, 
Assail the meek natives, and ravage the land. 

He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire, 

And the peaceful Cazique ’mid their ashes expire; 
He sees, too,—O, saddest; O, mournfullest sight!— 
The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight. 

More terrible far than the merciless steel 
Is the up-lifted cross in the red hand of Zeal! 

Again the dream changes. Columbus looks forth, 
And a bright constellation beholds in the North. 
’Tis the herald of empire! A people appear, 
Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear! 

They level.the forest—they ransack the seas,— 
Each.zone finds their canvas unfurled to the breeze. 
“Hold!” Tyranny cries; but their resolute breath 
Sends back the reply, “Independence or death !” 

The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might. 
And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight. 
They have conquered! The People, with grateful 
acclaim, 



Standard Literary Selections. 67 

Look to Washington’s guidance, from Washing¬ 
ton’s fame;— 

Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined 
In his patriot heart and republican mind. 

O type of true manhood! What sceptre or crown 
But fades in the light of thy simple renown ? 

And lo! by the side of the Hero, a Sage, 

In Freedom’s behalf, sets his mark on the age; 
Whom Science adoringly hails, while he wrings 
The lightning from Heaven, the sceptre from kings! 

At length, o’er Columbus slow consciousness breaks, 
“Land! land!” cry the sailors; “land! land”—he 
awakes,— 

He runs, yes! behold it! it blesseth his sight,— 

The land; O dear spectacle! transport delight! 

O generous sobs, which he cannot restrain! 

What will Ferdinand say? and the Future? and 
Spain ? 

He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne,— 
His King will repay all the ills he has known,— 

In exchange for a world what are honors and gains ? 
Or a crown? But how is he rewarded?—with 
chains! — Casimir Delavigne. 


LESSON XVI 

PART I-THE AMERICAN WAR 

W110 is the man that, in addition to the dis¬ 
graces and mischiefs of our army, has dared to 
authorize and associate to our arms the tomahawk 



68 Standard Literary Selections. 

and scalping-knife of the savage?—to call into civ¬ 
ilized alliance the wild and inhuman savage of the 
woods; to delegate to the merciless Indian the de¬ 
fence of disputed rights; and to wage the horrors ot 
his barbarous war against our brethren? My Lords, 
these enormities cry aloud for redress and punish¬ 
ment; but, atrocious as they are, they have found 
a defender in this House. “It is perfectly justifi¬ 
able/’ says a noble Lord, “to use all means that God 
and Nature put into our hands.” I am astonished, 
shocked, to hear such principles confessed,—to hear 
them avowed in this House, or even in this coun¬ 
try; principles equally unconstitutional, inhuman, 
and unchristian! My Lords, I did not intend to 
have trespassed again upon your attention; but I 
cannot repress my indignation—I feel myself im¬ 
pelled by every duty to proclaim it. As members of 
this House, as men, as Christians, we are called 
upon to protest the barbarous proposition. “That 
God and Nature put into our hands!” What ideas 
that noble Lord may entertain of God and Nature, 
I know not; but I know that such abominable prin¬ 
ciples are equally abhorrent to religion and to hu¬ 
manity. What! attribute the sacred sanction of God 
and Nature to the massacres of the Indian scalping- 
knife,—to the cannibal savage, torturing, murder¬ 
ous, devouring, drinking the blood of his mangled 
victims! Such horrible notions shock every precept 
of religion, revealed or natural; every sentiment of 
honour, every generous feeling of humanity! 

These abominable principles, and this more abom¬ 
inable avowal of them, demand most decisive in¬ 
dignation ! I call upon that Right Reverend Bench, 


Standard Literary Selections. 69 

those holy ministers of the Gospel, and pious pas¬ 
tors of our church; I conjure them to join in the 
holy work, and to vindicate the religion of their 
God! I appeal to the wisdom and the law of this 
learned Bench, to defend and support the justice of 
their country! I call upon the Bishops to inter¬ 
pose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn ; upon the 
judges, to interpose the purity of their ermine, to 
save us from pollution! I call upon the honour of 
your Lordships to reverence the dignity of your an¬ 
cestors, and to maintain your own! I call upon the 
spirit and humanity of my country, to vindicate the 
national character! I invoke the genius of the Con¬ 
stitution ! From the tapestry that adorns these 
walls, the immortal ancestor of the noble Lord 
frowns with indignation at the disgrace of his 
country! 

—William Pitt. 

PART II-AMERICA UNCONQUERABLE 

This, my Lords, is a perilous and tremendous 
moment. It is no time for adulation. The smooth¬ 
ness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and 
awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the 
Throne in the language of Truth. We must, if pos¬ 
sible, dispel the delusion and darkness which envelop 
it; and display, in its full danger and genuine colors, 
the ruin which is brought to our doors. Can Min¬ 
isters still presume to expect support in their infat¬ 
uation? Can Parliament be so dead to its dignity 
and duty as to be thus deluded into the loss of one, 
and the violation of the otheras to give an un- 


7o 


Standard Literary Selections. 


limited support to measures which have heaped dis¬ 
grace and misfortune upon us; measures which have 
reduced this late flourishing empire to ruin and con¬ 
tempt? But yesterday, and England might have 
stood against the world; now , none so poor to do 
her reverence! France, my Lords, has insulted 
you. She has encouraged and sustained America; 
and, whether America be wrong or right, the dig¬ 
nity of this country ought to spurn at the officious 
insult of French interference. Can even our Min¬ 
isters sustain a more humiliating disgrace ? Do they 
dare to resent it? Do they presume even to hint 
a vindication of their honour, and the dignity of the 
State, by requiring the dismissal of the plenipoten¬ 
tiaries of America? The People whom they affected 
to call contemptible rebels, but whose growing power 
has at last obtained the name of enemies,—the Peo¬ 
ple with whom they have engaged this country in 
war, and against whom they now command our im¬ 
plicit support in every measure of desperate hos¬ 
tility,—this People, despised as rebels, or acknowl¬ 
edged as enemies, are abetted against you, supplied 
with every military store, their interests consulted, 
and their Ambassadors entertained, by your inveter¬ 
ate enemy,—and our Ministers dare not interpose 
with dignity or effect! 

My Lords, this ruinous and ignominious situa¬ 
tion, where we cannot act with success nor suffer 
with honour, calls upon us to remonstrate in the 
strongest and loudest language of truth, to rescue 
the ear of Majesty from the delusions which sur¬ 
round it. You cannot, I venture to say it, you 
CANNOT conquer America. What is your pres- 


Standard Literary Selections. 


7i 


ent situation there? We do not know the worst; 
but we know that in three campaigns we have done 
nothing, and suffered much. You may swell every 
expense, and strain every effort still’ more extrava¬ 
gantly ; accumulate every assistance you can beg or 
borrow; traffic and barter with every little pitiful 
German Prince that sells and sends his subjects to 
the shambles of a foreign country; your efforts are 
forever vain and impotent,—doubly so from this 
mercenary aid on which you rely, for it irritates to an 
incurable resentment the minds of your enemies, to 
overrun them with the sordid sons of rapine and of 
plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the 
rapacity of hireling cruelty! If I were an American, 
as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was 
landed in my country, I never would lay down my 
arms !—never ! never! never! 

—William Pitt. 


LESSON XVII 

CASSIUS AND BRUTUS 


Cassius: 

Well, honour is the subject of my story.-r- 
I cannot tell what you and other men 
Think of this life; but, for my single self, 

I had as lief not be as live to be 
In awe of such a thing as I myself. 

I was born free as Caesar, so were you; 

We both have fed as well, and we can both 
Endure the winter’s cold as well as he. 



72 


Standard Literary Selections. 


For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 

The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, 

Caesar said to me, “Dar'st thou, Cassius, now 
Leap in with me into this angry flood, 

And swim to yonder point ?” Upon the word, 
Accoutred as I was, I plunged in, 

And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did. 

The torrent roared; and we did buffet it 
With lusty sinews; throwing it aside, 

And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 

But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 

Caesar cried, "Help me, Cassius, or I sink!” 

I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, 

Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
The old Anchises bear, so, from the waves of Tiber 
Did I the tired Caesar. And this man 
Is now become a god; and Cassius is 
A wretched creature, and must bend his body 
If Caesar carelessly but nod on him. 

He had a fever when he was in Spain, 

And when the fit was on him I did mark 

How he did shake: ’tis true, this god did shake; 

His coward lips did from their colour fly; 

And that same eye whose bend doth awe the world 
Did lose his lustre. I did hear him groan ; 

Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
Alas! it cried, “Give me some drink, Titinias,” 

As a sick girl.—Ye gods, it doth amaze me, 

A man of such a feeble temper should 
So get the start of the majestic world, 

And bear the palm alone. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


73 


The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 

But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 

Brutus and Caesar; what should be in that Caesar ? 
Why should that name be sounded more than yours ? 
Write them together, yours is as fair a name; 

Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; 
Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with ’em, 
‘Brutus’ will start a spirit as soon as ‘Caesar.’ 

Now, in the names of all the gods at once, 

Upon what meat doth this our Caesar feed, 

That he is grown so great ? Age, thou art shamed: 
Rome, thou has lost the breed of noble bloods! 

When went there by an age, since the great flood, 
But it was famed with more than with one man ? 
When could they say till now that talked of Rome, 

That her wide walls encompassed but one man? 

* * * 

O, you and I have heard our fathers say, 

There was a Brutus once that would have brooked 
The eternal devil to keep his state in Rome 
As easily as a king! 

— Shakespeare- 


LESSON XVIII 
charges against catholics 

Calumniators of Catholicism, have you read the 
history of your country? Of the charges against 
the religion of Ireland, the annals of England afford 
the confutation. The body of your common law 
was given by the Catholic Alfred. He gave you your 



74 


Standard Literary Selections 


judges, your magistrates, your high-sheriffs, your 
courts of justice, your elective system, and, the great 
bulwark of your liberties, the trial by jury. Who 
conferred upon the people the right of self-taxation, 
and fixed, if he did not create, their representation? 
The Catholic Edward the First; while in the reign 
of Edward the Third perfection was given to the 
representative system. Parliaments were annually 
called, and the statute against constructive treason 
was enacted. It is false,—foully, infamously false, 
—that the Catholic religion, the religion of your fore¬ 
fathers, the religion of seven millions of your fel¬ 
low subjects, has been the auxiliary of debasement, 
and that to its influence the suppression of British 
freedom can, in a single instance, be referred. I 
am loath to say that which can give you cause to 
take offence; but when the faith of my country is 
made the object of imputation, I cannot help, I can¬ 
not refrain, from breaking into a retaliatory interro¬ 
gation, and from asking whether the overthrow of 
the old religion of England was not effected by a 
tyrant, with a hand of iron and a heart of stone; 
whether Henry did not trample on freedom, while 
upon Catholicism he set his foot; and whether Eliza¬ 
beth herself, the virgin of the Reformation, did not 
inherit her despotism with her creed; whether in her 
reign the most barbarous atrocities were not com¬ 
mitted; whether torture, in violation of the Catho¬ 
lic common law of England, was not politically 
inflicted, and with the shrieks of agony the Towers 
of Julius, in the dead of night, did not reecho? 

You may suggest to me that in the larger portion 
of Catholic Europe freedom does not exist; but you 


Standard Literary Selections. 75 

should bear in mind that, at a period when the 
Catholic religion was in its most palmy state, free¬ 
dom flourished in the countries in which it is now 
extinct. False,—I repeat it, with all the vehemence 
of indignant asseveration,—utterly false is the charge 
habitually preferred against the religion which 
Englishmen have laden with penalties, and have 
marked with degradation. I can bear with any other 
charge but this—to any other charge I can listen 
with endurance. Tell me that I prostrate myself 
before a sculptured marble; tell me that to a canvas 
glowing with the imagery of Heaven I bend my 
knee; tell me that my faith is my perdition; and, as 
you traverse the church-yards in which your fore¬ 
fathers are buried, pronounce upon those who have 
lain there for many hundred years a fearful and 
appalling sentence,—yes, call what I regard as the 
truth, not only an error, but a sin, to which mercy 
shall not be extended,—all this I will bear,—to all 
this I will submit,—nay, at all this I will but smile, 
—but do not tell me that I am in heart and creed a 
slave! That, my countrymen cannot brook! In 
their bosoms they carry the high consciousness that 
never was imputation more foully false, or more 
detestably calumnious! 


—Richard Lalor Sheil. 


j6 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON XIX 

IRISH ALIENS AND ENGLISH VICTORIES 

I should be surprised, indeed, if, while you are 
doing us wrong, you did not profess your solicitude 
to do us justice. From the day on which Strong- 
bow set his foot upon the shore of Ireland, English¬ 
men were never wanting in protestations of their 
deep anxiety to do us justice;—even Strafford, the 
deserter of the People’s cause,—the renegade Went- 
wroth, who gave evidence in Ireland of the spirit of 
instinctive tyranny which predominated in his char¬ 
acter,—even Strafford, while he trampled upon our 
rights, and trod upon the heart of the country, pro¬ 
tested his solicitude to do justice to Ireland! What 
marvel is it, then, that Gentlemen opposite should 
deal in such vehement protestations ? There is, how¬ 
ever, one man of great abilities,—not a member of 
this House, but whose talents and whose boldness 
have placed him in the topmost place in his party— 
who, disdaining all imposture, and thinking it the 
best course to appeal directly to the religious and 
national antipathies of the people of this country— 
abandoning all reserve, and flinging off the slender 
veil by which his political associates affect to cover 
although they cannot hide their motives—distinctly 
and audaciously tells the Irish people that they are 
not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen; 
and pronounces them, in any particular which could 
enter his minute enumeration of the circumstances 
by which fellow-citizenship is created, in race, iden¬ 
tity and religion, to be aliens;—to be aliens in race, 


Standard Literary Selections. 


77 


to be aliens in country, to be aliens in religion! 
Aliens! good God! was Arthur, Duke of Wellington, 
in the House of Lords,—and did he not start up 
and exclaim, “Hold! I HAVE SEEN THE 
ALIENS DO THEIR DUTY!” The Duke of 
Wellington is not a man of an excitable tempera¬ 
ment. His mind is of a cast too martial to be easily 
moved; but, notwithstanding his habitual inflex¬ 
ibility, I cannot help thinking that, when he heard 
his Roman Catholic countrymen (for we are his 
countrymen) designated by a phrase as offensive as 
the abundant vocabulary of his eloquent confederate 
could supply,—I cannot help thinking that he ought 
to have recollected the many fields of fight in which 
we have been contributors to his renown. The bat¬ 
tle sieges, fortunes that he has passed, ought to have 
come back upon him. He ought to have remembered 
that, from the earliest achievement in which he dis¬ 
played that military genius which has placed him 
foremost in the annals of modern warfare, down to 
that last and surpassing combat which has made his 
name imperishable,—from Assaye to Waterloo—the 
Irish soldiers, with whom your armies are filled, 
were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with 
which his unparalleled successes have been crowned. 
Whose were the arms that drove your bayonets at 
Vimiera through the phalanxes that never reeled in 
the shock of war before? What desperate valor 
climbed the steeps and filled the moats at Badajos? 
All his victories should have rushed and crowded 
back upon his memory,—Vimiera, Badajos, Sala- 
manaca, Albuera, Tolouse, and, last of all, the great¬ 
est, ■—. Tell me,—for you were there,—I ap- 




78 Standard Literary Selections. 

peal to the gallant soldier before me (Sir Henry 
Hardinge), from whose opinions I differ, but who 
bears, I know, a generous heart in an intrepid 
breast;—tell me,—for you must needs remember,— 
on that day when the destinies of mankind were 
trembling in the balance, while death fell in showers, 
when the artillery of France was levelled with a pre¬ 
cision of the most deadly science,—when her legions, 
incited by the voice and inspired by the example of 
their mighty leader, rushed again and again to the 
onset,—tell me if, for an instant, when to hesitate 
for an instant was to be lost, the “aliens” blenched ? 
And when, at length, the moment for the last and 
decided movement had arrived, and the valor which 
had so long been wisely checked was, at last, let 
loose,—when, with words familiar, but immortal, 
the great captain commanded the great assault,— 
tell me if Catholic Ireland with less heroic valor 
than the natives of this your own glorious country 
precipitated herself upon the foe? The blood of 
England, Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the 
same stream, and drenched the same field. When 
the chill morning dawned, their dead lay cold and 
stark together;—in the same deep pits their bodies 
were deposited; the green corn of spring is now 
breaking from their commingled dust; the dew falls 
from Heaven upon their union in the grave. Par¬ 
takers in every peril, in the glory shall we not be 
permitted to participate; and shall we be told, as a 
requital, that we are estranged from the noble coun¬ 
try for whose salvation our life-blood was poured 
out ? —Richard Lalor SheiJ. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


79 


LESSON XX 

IMMORTALITY 

If we wholly perish with the body, what an 
imposture is this whole system of laws, manners and 
usages, on which human society is founded! If 
we wholly perish with the body, these maxims of 
charity, patience, justice, honor, gratitude, and 
friendship, which sages have taught and good men 
have practiced, what are they but empty words, 
possessing no real and binding efficacy ? Why 
should we heed them, if in this life only we have 
hope? Speak not of duty. What can we owe to 
the dead, to the living, to ourselves, if all are, or 
will be, nothing? Who shall dictate our duty, if 
not our own pleasures,—if not our own passions? 
Speak not of morality. It is a mere chimera, a bug¬ 
bear of human invention, if retribution terminate 
with the grave. 

If we must wholly perish, what to us are the 
sweet ties of kindred? What the tender names of 
parent, child, sister, brother, husband, wife, or 
friend? The characters of a drama are not more 
illusive. We have no ancestors, no descendants; 
since succession cannot be predicated to nothingness. 
Would we honor the illustrious dead? How absurd 
to honor that which has no existence! Would we 
take thought for posterity? How frivolous to con¬ 
cern ourselves for those whose end, like our own, 
must soon be annihilation! Have we made a prom¬ 
ise? How can it bind nothing to nothing? Perjury 
is but a jest. The last injunctions of the dying,— 
what sanctity have they, more than the last sound 


8o 


Standard Literary Selections. 


of a chord that is snapped, of an instrument that is 
broken ? 

To sum up all: If we must wholly perish, then 
is obedience to the laws but an insensate servitude; 
rulers and magistrates are but the phantoms which 
popular imbecility have raised up; justice is an un¬ 
warrantable infringement upon the liberty of men, 
—an imposition, an usurpation; the law of marriage 
is a vain scruple; modesty, a prejudice; honor and 
probity, such stuff as dreams are made of; and in¬ 
cests, murders, parricides, the most heartless cruel¬ 
ties, and the blackest crimes, are but the legitimate 
sports of man’s irresponsible nature; while the harsh 
epithets attached to them are merely such as the 
policy of legislators has invented, and imposed on 
the credulity of the people. 

Here is the issue to which the vaunted philos¬ 
ophy of unbelievers must inevitably lead. Here is 
that social felicity, that sway of reason, that eman¬ 
cipation from error, of which they eternally prate, 
as the fruit of their doctrines. Accept their maxims, 
and the whole world falls back into a frightful 
chaos; and all the relations of life are confounded; 
and all ideas of vice and virtue are reversed; and the 
most inviolable laws of society vanish; and all moral 
discipline perishes; and the government of states 
and nations has no longer any cement to uphold it; 
and all harmony of the body politic becomes discord ; 
and the human race is no more than an assemblage 
of reckless barbarians, shameless, remorseless, bru¬ 
tal, denaturalized, with no other law than force, no 
other check than passion, no other bond than irre- 
ligion, no other God than self! Such would be the 


Standard Literary Selections. 8i 

world which impiety would make. Such would be 
this world, were a belief in God and immortality to 
die out of the human heart. 

—Jean Baptiste Massillon. 


LESSON XXI 

ORIGIN OF HOSPITALS 

To describe all the various institutions of mercy 
which existed during the Middle Ages, would be an 
endless task; and, to impart an adequate idea of their 
merits by citing didactic pieces, without, as it were, 
a local and minute inspection of what was estab¬ 
lished, is impossible; for it is in such works that one 
perceives the truth of what an ancient French writer 
remarks, that the heart is more ingenious than the 
understanding. In cities, therefore, in deserts, 
amidst which cloistered brethren dwelt in happier 
days, wherever we direct our steps, within the 
realms that faith once illumined, Catholicism has left 
some memorial by which we know that the blessed 
merciful have passed—some monument, vital with 
mind, attesting the subtle action of a most loving 
heart, which to an ordinary traveller, may seem only 
some rude wall, perhaps, or broken trophy, but on 
which a poet, with the tender penetration of a 
Wordsworth, may describe his fastening “an eye 
tear-glazed/' Johnson used to say, that the real 
criterion of civilization consisted in the degree of 
provision made for the happiness of the poor; and 



82 


Standard Literary Selections. 


if that proposition be admitted, we must conclude 
that the Middle Ages were more entitled to the praise 
to which the modern communities lay claim, than 
any other period in the history of man. To win the 
beatitude of the merciful, there were, it must be re¬ 
membered, other virtues required in regard to the 
poor besides ministering to their corporal necessi¬ 
ties; and truly, in fulfilling the spiritual works of 
mercy towards them, the devotion of men in the 
Middle Ages was admirable, and such as can never 
be sufficiently praised; but having already had oc¬ 
casion to witness their respect for the poor, their 
meekness in relation to them, their readiness to con¬ 
sole, their assiduity to counsel and instruct them, it 
will not be necessary to give any further illustra¬ 
tions ; though, were time and space allowed, it would 
not be an unpleasant field for reminiscences. Poets, 
who sing so often the interceding grace of a St. 
Elmo, to whose prayers the Spanish and Portuguese 
sailors commend their barks in tempests, would not 
be ungrateful to an historian who should remind 
them that this saint was known in history as St. 
Peter Gongalez, who had exchanged the honours 
and pleasures of a court for the privilege of teach¬ 
ing the catechism to the poor children of the fisher¬ 
men and sailors on the coasts of the Peninsula. One 
might write a large book upon the education which 
was given to the poor, in the Middle Ages, by the 
charity of the rich. The parents of the celebrated 
Lewis of Granada were indigent, obscure persons, 
but the Marquis de Mondejar supplied them with 
means for educating their son. Similar instances 
are innumerable. In the sixteenth century, in the 


Standard Literary Selections. 


83 


public grammar school of Padua, founded by An- 
nibal Rugerio, the boys and youths of the city were 
taught gratuitously, both Greek and Latin. But 
there yet remains unnoticed an order of facts more 
striking still, as attesting the passage of the blessed 
merciful upon earth, to the examination of which we 
must now proceed. If we open the annals of any 
city, and examine the rise and progress of its chari¬ 
table foundations, we cannot but feel surprise and 
admiration at the prodigious and persevering activ¬ 
ity of the principle which has produced such effects. 
What a series of institutions, directed to some pur¬ 
pose of love and mercy, is presented in the history of 
Paris alone; and what a multitude of all ranks and 
estates of men cooperated with one heart and mind 
to conceive, establish, and perpetuate them! Kings 
and queens, princes, nobles, bishops, priests, magis¬ 
trates, citizens, tradesmen, and even mendicants, all 
conspired in the same direction, and with such com¬ 
prehensive and subtle skill, that no kind of misery 
was forgotten, or left unprovided with the fitting 
means to remove or alleviate it. De Bourgeville, 
speaking of the charitable foundations at Caen, ob¬ 
serves, that posterity will be easily able to judge, that 
their predecessors were very faithful to God, chari¬ 
table to the poor, and firm in their hope in His mercy, 
when it will remark the foundations which they have 
left, to the value, every year, of three thousand livres. 
No ancient legislator ever proposed an hospital for 
the poor and infirm, or an hospice for the stranger 
and destitute. When peasants or any wanderers 
from the country came into Rome, if they did not 
leave it after the market, they had no resource but to 


84 


Standard Literary Selections. 


pass the night in the arcades, and about the forum, 
or in the porches before the temples. The Greeks 
were ignorant even of the name of an hospital; the 
word “nosocomium” was first employed by St. 
Jerome and St. Isidore. It is true, in the Pryta- 
neum at Athens there was provided subsistence for 
the wives and children of those who had suffered 
for their country, but there was no asylum in sick¬ 
ness. The infirm and sick are wholly overlooked in 
the institutions of Lycurgus, as in those of all other 
legislators of Greece, although the father of medi¬ 
cine, Hippocrates, with a solemn oath, swears, that 
he will visit, all his life, the poor gratuitously. In 
ancient Rome, in regard of the poor, there were the 
same neglect and indifference. 

The history of the rise and progress of hospitals 
can be traced in a few words. In the year 380, the 
first hospital in the west was founded by Fabiola, a 
devout Roman lady, without the walls of Rome. 
St. Jerome says expressly that “this was the first of 
all”; and he adds, that “it was a country house, des¬ 
tined to receive the sick and infirm, who before used 
to lie stretched on the public ways.” The pilgrims’ 
hospital at Rome, built by Pammachius, became 
celebrated. In 330, the priest Zotichus, who had 
followed Constantine to Byzantium, established in 
that city, under his protection, an hospice for stran¬ 
gers and pilgrims. This house was built on the plan 
of the hospice at Jerusalem, which Hircan had 
erected there one hundred and fifty years before 
Christ, in expiation of having opened and plundered 
the tomb of David, and in order to convert the 
riches he had found there to a benevolent purpose; 


Standard Literary Selections. 


85 


but it is supposed by Mongez, that this hospice was 
only open during the feast of the Passover. St. 
Isidore says, in his “Etymologies,” that “this was the 
first hospice for strangers.” St. Basil, who founded 
the first hospitals of Asia, mentioned a house for the 
reception of the sick and of travellers, built on a 
spot formerly uninhabited, near the city of Caesarea, 
which became afterwards the ornament of the coun¬ 
try, and like a second city. St. Basil used frequently 
to visit it, in order to console and instruct the poor. 
St. Chrysostom built several hospitals at Constan¬ 
tinople. Justinian, in the year 350, erected, at 
Jerusalem, the famous Hospital of St. John, and his 
example was followed by his successors with such 
zeal, that, according to Ducange, in his commentary 
on the Byzantine history, there were thirty-five es¬ 
tablishments of charity in that city alone; there was 
the Nosocomium, or asylum for the sick, the Xenodo- 
chium, for pilgrims and strangers; the Ptochium, or 
hospice for the poor; the house of education for 
poor children ; the house for orphans; the asylum for 
the aged; the Pandochium, or gratuitous inn; and 
the house for lunatics. 

— Digby—Ages of Faith. 


LESSON XXII 

GOD SEEN IN HIS WORKS 

All nature manifests the infinite skill of its 
Author. Cast your eyes upon the earth that sup¬ 
ports us ; then raise them to the immense vault of the 



86 


Standard Literary Selections. 


heavens that surround us; these fathomless 
abysses of air and water, and these countless stars 
that give us light. Who has suspended this globe 
of earth? who has laid its foundations? If it were 
harder, its bosom could not be laid open by man for 
cultivation; if it were less firm, it could not support 
the weight of his footsteps. From it proceed the 
most precious things; this earth, so mean and un¬ 
formed, is transformed into thousands of beautiful 
objects that delight our eyes; in the course of one 
year, it becomes branches, buds, leaves, flowers, 
fruits, and seeds; thus renewing its bountiful fa¬ 
vours to man. Nothing exhausts it. After yielding 
for so many ages its treasures, it experiences no 
decay, it does not grow old; it still pours forth 
riches from its bosom. Generations of men have 
grown old and passed away, while every spring the 
earth has renewed its youth. If it were cultivated, 
it would nourish a hundredfold more than it does. 

The inequalities of the earth add to its beauty 
and utility. “The mountains have risen, and the 
valleys descended, in the places where the Lord has 
appointed." In the deep valley grows the fresh her¬ 
bage for cattle. Rich harvests wave in the cham¬ 
paign country. Here, ranges of little hills rise like 
an amphitheatre,- and are crowned with vineyards 
and fruit-trees; there, high mountains lift their 
snow-crowned heads among the clouds. The tor¬ 
rents that pour from their sides- are the sources of 
the rivers. The rocks making their steep heights 
support the earth of the mountains, just as the bones 
of the human body support the flesh. This variety 
makes the charm of rural scenery, while it is also 


Standard Literary Selections. 


87 


the means of satisfying all the different wants of 
men. Everything that the earth produces is decom¬ 
posed, and returns again to its bosom, and becomes 
the germ of a new production. Everything that 
springs from it, returns to it, and nothing is lost. 
All the seeds that we sow in it, return multiplied to 
us. It produces stone and marble, of which we 
make our superb edifices. It teems with minerals, 
precious or useful to man. 

Look at the plants that spring from it. Their 
species and their virtues are innumerable. Con¬ 
template those vast forests, as ancient as the world; 
those trees, whose roots strike into the earth, as 
their branches spread out towards the heavens. 
Their roots support them against the winds, and are 
like subterranean pipes, whose office is to collect 
the nourishment necessary for the support of the 
stem; the stem is covered with a thick bark, which 
protects the tender wood from the air; the branches 
distribute, in different canals, the sap which the 
roots have collected in the trunk. In summer they 
protect us with their shade from the rays of the 
sun; in winter they feed the flame that keeps us 
warm. Their wood is not only useful for fuel, but 
it is of a substance, although solid and durable, to 
which the hand of man can give every form that he 
pleases, for the purposes of architecture and navi¬ 
gation. Fruit trees, as they bow their branches tow¬ 
ards the earth, seem to invite us to receive theii 
treasures. The feeblest plant contains within itself 
the germ of all that we admire in the grandest tree. 

The earth, without changing itself, produces all 
these changes in its offspring. Let us notice what 


88 


Standard Literary Selections. 


we call water: it is a liquid, clear, and transparent 
body. Now it escapes from our grasp, and now it 
takes the form of whatever surrounds it, having 
none of its own. If the water were a little more 
rarified, it would become a species of air; the whole 
face of nature would be dry and sterile. He who has 
given us this fluid body has distributed it with care 
through the earth. The waters flow from the moun¬ 
tains. They assemble in streams in the valleys, and 
they flow on in rivers* winding their way through 
the open country, that they may more effectually 
water it. At last they empty themselves into the sea, 
to feed this centre of the commerce of nations. This 
ocean, that seems an eternal separation of countries, 
is, on the contrary, the great rendezvous of all na¬ 
tions. It is over this pathless way, across this pro¬ 
found abyss, that the old world has put forth its 
hand to the new, and that the new supplies the old 
with its treasures. 

The water circulates through the earth, as the 
blood does through the human body. Besides this 
perpetual circulation, there is the ebbing and flow¬ 
ing of the sea. We need not know the cause of this 
mysterious effect. Of this only are we certain, that 
the sea goes and returns to the same place at cer¬ 
tain hours. Who has commanded it to ebb and flow 
with such regularity? A little more or a little less 
motion in the waters would derange all nature. Who 
is it that controls this immense body with such irre- 
sistable power ? Who is it that always avoids the- 
too much and the too little? What unerring finger 
has marked the boundaries for the sea, that through 
countless ages it has respected, and has said to it, 


Standard Literary Selections. 89 

“Here shall thy proud waves be stayed ?” If I look 
up to the heavens, I perceive clouds flying as upon 
the wings of the wind; bodies of water suspended 
over our heads, to temper the air, and water the 
thirsty earth. If they were to fall all at once, they 
would overwhelm and destroy everything in the 
place where they fell. What hand suspends them in 
their reservoirs, and bids them fall drop by drop as 
from a watering pot ? 

—Archbishop Fenelotu 


LESSON XXIII 

SORROW FOR THE DEAD 

The sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from 
which we refuse to be divorced. Every other 
wound we seek to heal—every other affliction to for¬ 
get; but this wound we consider it a duty to keep 
open—this affliction we cherish and brood over in 
solitude. Where is the mother who would willingly 
forget the infant that perished like a blossom from 
her arms, though every recollection be a pang? 
Where is the child that would willingly forget the 
most tender of parents, though to remember be but 
to lament ? Who, even in the hour of agony, would 
forget the friend over whom he mourns? Who, 
even when the tomb is closing upon the remains of 
her he most lo^ed, when he feels his heart, as it 
were, crushed in the closing of its portal, would ac¬ 
cept of consolation that must be bought by forget- 



qo 


Standard Literary Selections. 


fulness? No; the love which survives the tomb is 
one of the noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its 
woes, it has likewise its delights; and when the over¬ 
whelming burst of grief is calmed into the gentle 
tear of recollection; when the sudden anguish and 
the convulsive agony over the present ruins of all 
that we most loved, is softened away into pensive 
meditation on all that it was in the days of loveli¬ 
ness—who would root out such a sorrow from the 
heart? Though it may sometimes throw a passing 
cloud over the bright hour of gaiety, or spread a 
deeper sadness over the hour of gloom, yet who 
would exchange it even for a song of pleasure or 
the burst of revelry? No; there is a voice from the 
tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of 
the dead to which we turn even from the charms of 
the living. Oh! the grave! the grave! It buries 
every error—covers every defect—extinguishes 
every resentment. From its peaceful bosom spring 
none but fond regrets and tender recollections. Who 
can look down upon the grave even of an enemy, 
and not feel a compunctious throb, that he should 
ever have warred with the poor handful of earth that 
lies mouldering before him. 

But the grave of those we loved—what a place 
for meditation! There it is that we call up in long 
review the whole history of virtue and gentleness, 
and the thousand endearments lavished upon us, al¬ 
most unheeded in the daily intercourse of intimacy- 
then it is that we dwell upon the tender¬ 
ness, the solemn, awful tenderness, of the 
parting scene. The bed of death, with all 
its stifled griefs—its noiseless attendance— 


Standard Literary Selections. 


9i 


its mute, watchful assiduities. The last testime 
nies of expiring love! The feeble, fluttering, thrill¬ 
ing—oh! how thrilling! pressure of the hand—the 
last fond look of the glazing eye, turning upon us 
even from the threshold of existence—the faint, fal¬ 
tering accent, struggling in death to give one more 
assurance of affection! 

Ay! go to the grave of buried love and meditate! 
There settle the account with thy conscience for 
every past benefit unrequited—every past endear¬ 
ment unregarded, of that departed being, who can 
never, never, never return to be soothed by thy con¬ 
trition ! 

If thou art a child, and hast ever added a sorrow 
to the soul, or a furrow to the silver brow of an 
affectionate parent—if thou art a husband, and hast 
ever caused the fond bosom that ventured its whole 
happiness in thy arms, to doubt one moment of thy 
kindness or thy truth—if thou art a friend, and hast 
ever wronged, in thought or word, or deed, the 
spirit that generously confided in thee;—then be 
sure that every unkind look, every ungracious word, 
every ungentle action, will come thronging back 
upon thy memory, and knocking dolefully at thy soul 
—then be sure that thou wilt lie down, sorrowing 
and repentant, on the grave, and utter the unheard 
groan, and pour the unavailing tear, more deep, more 
bitter, because unheard and unavailing. 

Then weave thy chaplet of flowers, and strew 
the beauties of nature about the grave; console thy 
broken spirit, if thou canst, with these tender, yet 
futile tributes of regret; but take warning by the 


92 


Standard Literary Selections. 


bitterness of this thy contrite affliction over the dead, 
and henceforth be more faithful and affectionate in 
the discharge of thy duties to the living. 

—Washington Irving. 


LESSON XXIV 

PARADISE AND THE PERI 

One morn a Peri at the gate 
Of Eden stood, disconsolate; 

And as she listened to the springs 
Of life within, like music flowing, 

And caught the light upon her wings 
Through the half-open portal glowing, 

She wept to think her recreant race 
Should e’er have lost that glorious place! 

“How happy,” exclaimed the child of air, 

“Are the holy spirits who wander there. 

Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall; 
Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
And the stars themselves have flowers for me, 
One blossom of Heaven outblooms them all!’ 

* * * 

The glorious angel, who was keeping 
The gates of light, beheld her weeping; 

And, as he nearer drew and listened 
To her sad song, a tear-drop glistened 



Standard Literary Selections. 


93 


Within his eyelids, like the spray 
From Eden’s fountain, when it lies 

On the blue flower, which, Brahmins say, 
Blooms nowhere but in Paradise. 

“Nymph of a fair but erring line,” 

Gently he said, “one hope is thine: 

‘Tis written in the book of Fate, 

The Peri yet may he forgiven, 

Who brings to this eternal gate 
The gift that is most dear to Heaven! 
Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin; 

’Tis sweet to let the pardoned in.” 

* * * 

Downward the Peri turns her gaze, 

And, through the war-field’s bloody haze, 
Beholds a youthful warrior stand 
Alone beside his native river, 

The red blade broken in his hand, 

And the last arrow in his quiver. 

“Live,” said the conqueror, “live to share 
The trophies and the crowns I bear!” 
Silent the youthful warrior stood; 

Silent he pointed to the flood 

All crimson with his country’s blood; 

Then sent his last remaining dart, 

For answer, to th’ invader’s heart. 

False flew the shaft, though pointed well; 
The tyrant lived, the hero fell! 

Yet marked the Peri where he lay, 

And, when the rush of war was past, 


94 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Swiftly descending on a ray 

Of morning light, she caught the last, 

Last glorious drop his heart had shed, 

Before his free-born spirit fled! 

“Be this/’ she cried, as she winged her flight, 
“My welcome gift at the Gates of Light. 

Though foul are the drops that oft distil 
On the field of warfare, blood like this, 

For liberty shed, so holy is, 

It would not stain the purest rill 
That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss! 

Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, 

A boon, an offering Heaven holds dear, 

‘Tis the last libation Liberty draws 

From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!” 

— Moore. 


LESSON XXV 

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO 

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his 
heart of fire, 

And sued the haughty king* to free his long-im¬ 
prisoned sire; 

“I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my cap¬ 
tive train, 

I pledge my faith, my liege, my lord!—oh, break my 
father’s chain!” 


* Alfonso of Asturias. Died A. D. 757. 




Standard Literary Selections. 95 

“Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ran* 
somed man this day; 

Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet 
him on his way.” 

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his 
steed, 

And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger’s 
foamy speed. 

And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a 
glittering band, 

With one that ’midst them stately rode, as a leader 
in the land; 

“Now haste, Bernardo, t haste! for there, in very 
truth, is he, 

The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned • 
so long to see.” 

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his 
cheek’s blood came and went; 

He reached that gray-haired chieftain’s side, and 
there, dismounting, bent; 

A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father’s hand he 
took,— 

What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit 
shook ? 

That hand was cold—a frozen thing—it dropped 
from his like lead,— 

He looked up to the face above; the face was of the 
dead! 

A plume waved o’er the noble brow—the brow was 
fix’d and white;— 


t Del Carpio. a celebrated Spanish knight. 



g6 Standard Literary Selections. 

He met at last his father’s eyes—but in them was 
no sight! 

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed, but who 
could paint that gaze? 

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror 
and amaze; 

They might have chained him, as before that stony 
form he stood; 

For the power was stricken from his arm, and from 
his lip the blood. 

'‘Father!” at length he murmured low—and wept 
like childhood then,— 

Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of war¬ 
like men!— 

• He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his 
young renown,— 

He flung the falchion from his side, and in the 
dust sate down. 

Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly 
mournful brow, 

“No more, there is no more,” he said, “to lift the 
sword for now.— 

My king is false, my hope betrayed, my father— 
oh! the worth, 

The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from 
earth!” 


* * * 

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized 
the monarch’s rein, 

Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier 
train, 


Standard Literary Selections. 97 

And with a fierce, o’ermastering grasp, the rearing 
war-horse led, 

And sternly set them face to face,—the king before 
the dead! 

“Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father’s 
hand to kiss?— 

Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me 
what is this? 

The voice, the glance, the heart I sought—give 
answer, where are they? 

If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life 
through this cold clay! 

“Into these glassy eyes put light,—be still! keep 
down thine ire,— 

Bid these white lips a blessing speak—this earth is 
not my sire! 

Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom 
my blood was shed,— 

Thou canst not—and a king!—His dust be moun¬ 
tains on thy head!” 

He loosed the steed'; his slack hand fell—upon the 
silent face 

He cast one long, deep, troubled glance,—then 
turned from that sad place: 

His hope was crushed, after-fate untold in martial 
strain;— 

His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills 
of Spain! 


— Mrs. Hemails. 


9 8 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON XXVI 

INVECTIVE AGAINST WARREN HASTINGS 

If, my lords, a stranger had at this time entered 
the province of Oude, ignorant of what had hap¬ 
pened since the death of Sujah Dowlah, that prince, 
wht with a savage heart, had still great lines of 
character, and who, with all his ferocity in war, 
had, with a cultivating hand, preserved to his 
country the wealth which it derived from the 
benignant skies and a prolific soil;—if observing 
the wide and general devastation of fields unclothed 
and brown; of vegetation burnt up and extin¬ 
guished ; of villages repopulated and in ruin; of 
temples unroofed and perishing; of reservoirs 
broken down and dry—this stranger should ask, 
“What has thus laid waste this beautiful and opu¬ 
lent land; what monstrous madness has ravaged 
with wide-spread war; what desolating foreign foe; 
what civil discords; what disputed succession; what 
religious zeal; what fabled monster has stalked 
abroad, and, with malice and mortal enmity to man, 
withered by the grasp of death every growth of na¬ 
ture and humanity, all means of delight, and each 
original simple principle of bare existence?”—the 
answer would have been, not one of these causes! 

No wars have ravaged these lands, and depopu¬ 
lated these villages—no desolating foreign foe—no 
domestic broils—no civil discords have been felt— 
no disputed succession—no religious rage—no mer¬ 
ciless enemy—no affliction of Providence, which, 
while it scourged for the moment, cut off the 


Standard Literary Selections. 


99 


sources of resuscitation—no voracious and poison¬ 
ing monsters; no, all this has been accomplished by 
the friendship, generosity, and kindness of the Eng¬ 
lish nation. They have embraced us with their pro¬ 
tecting arms, and lo! these are the fruits of our 
alliance. What, then, my lords, shall we bear to 
be told that, under such circumstances, the exasper¬ 
ated feelings of a wIioIq people, thus spurred on to 
clamour and resistance, were excited by the poor 
and feeble influence of the Begums? After hearing 
the description, given by an eye-witness, of the par¬ 
oxysm of fever and delirium into which despair 
threw the natives, when, on the banks of the pol¬ 
luted Ganges, panting for death, they tore more 
widely open the lips of their gaping wounds to ac¬ 
celerate their dissolution; and while their blood was 
issuing, presented their ghastly eyes to heaven, 
breathing their last and fervent prayer, that the dry 
earth might not be suffered to drink their blood, 
but that it might rise up to the throne of God and 
rouse the eternal Providence to avenge the wrongs 
of their country—will it be said that all this was 
brought about by the incantations of these Begums 
in their secluded Zenana; or that they could inspire 
this enthusiasm and this despair into the breast of 
a people who felt no grievance, and had suffered 
no torture? What motive, then, could have such 
influence in their bosoms? What motive! That 
which nature, the common parent, plants in the 
bosom of man, and which, though it may be less 
active in the Indian than in the Englishman, is still 
congenial with, and makes part of his being; that 
feeling which tells him that man was never made to 


IOO 


Standard Literary Selections. 


be the property of man; but that, when, in the pride 
and insolence of power, one human creature dares 
to tyrannize over another, it is a power usurped, 
and resistance is a duty ; that feeling which tells him, 
that all power is delegated for the good, not for the 
injury of the people; and that when it is converted 
from its original purpose, the compact is broken, 
and the right is to be resumed. That principle 
which tells him that resistance to power usurped is 
not merely a duty which he owes to himself and to 
his neighbour, but a duty which he owes to his 
God, in asserting and maintaining the rank which 
He gave him in the creation —that principle which 
neither the rudeness of ignorance can stifle, nor the 
enervation of refinement extinguish —that principle 
which makes it base for man to suffer when he 
ought to act; which, tending to preserve to the 
species the original designations of Providence, 
spurns at the arrogant distinctions of man, and vin¬ 
dicates the independent qualities of his race. 

— Sheridan. 


LESSON XXVII 

THE CROSS IN THE WILDERNESS 

Silent and mournful sat an Indian chief, 

In the red sunset, by a grassy tomb; 

His eyes, that might not weep, were dark with grief, 
And his arms folded in majestic gloom; 

And his bow lay unstrung beneath the mound 
Which sanctified the gorgeous waste around. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


ioi 


For a pale cross above its greensward rose, 

Telling the cedars and the pines that there 
Man’s heart and hope had struggled with his woes, 
And lifted from the dust a voice of prayer. 

Now all was hushed—and eve’s last splendour shone 
With a rich sadness on th’ attesting stone. 

There came a lonely traveller o’er the wild, 

And he too paused in reverence by that grave, 
Asking the tale of its memorial, piled 

Between the forest and the lake’s bright wave; 
Till, as a wind might stir a withered oak, 

On the deep dream of age his accents broke. 

And the gray chieftain, slowly rising, said— 

“I listened for the words, which, years ago, 
Passed o’er these waters: though the voice is fled 
Which made them as a singing fountain’s flow, 
Yet, when I sit in their long-faded track, 

Sometimes the forest’s murmur gives them back. 

“Ask’st thou of him whose house is lone beneath ? 

I was an eagle in my youthful pride, 

When o’er the seas he came, with summer’s breath, 
To dwell amidst us, on the lake’s green side. 
Many the times of flowers have been since then— 
Many, but bringing naught like him again! 

“Not with the hunter’s bow and spear he came, 

O’er the blue hills to chase the flying roe; 

Not the dark glory of the woods to tame, 

Laying their cedars like the corn-stalks low; 
But to spread tidings of all holy things, 

Gladdening our souls as with the morning’s wings. 


102 


Standard Literary Selections. 


“Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met, 

I and my brethren that from earth have gone. 
Under its boughs to hear his voice, which yet 
Seems through their gloom to send a silvery tone? 
He told of One, the grave’s dark bonds who broke, 
And our hearts burned within us as he spoke. 

“He told of far and sunny lands, which lie 
Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell: 

Bright must they be!—for there are none that die, 
And none that weep, and none that say ‘Farewell!’ 
He came to guide us thither;—but away 
The Happy called him, and he might not stay. 

“We saw him slowly fade—athirst, perchance, 

For the fresh waters of that lovely clime; 

Yet was there still a sunbeam in his glance, 

And on his gleaming hair no touch of time— 
Therefore we hoped;—but now the lake looks dim, 
For the green summer comes,—and finds not him! 

“We gathered round him in the dewy hour 
Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree; 

From his clear voice, at first, the words of power 
Came low, like moanings of a distant sea; 

But swelled and shook the wilderness ere long, 

As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong. 

“And then once more they trembled on his tongue, 
And his white eyelids fluttered, and his head 
Fell back, and mists upon his forehead hung,— 
Know’st thou not how we pass to join the dead? 
It is enough!—he sank upon my breast— 

Our friend that loved us, he was gone to rest! 


Standard Literary Selections. 103 

“We buried him where he was wont to pray, 

By the calm lake, e’en here, at eventide; 

We reared this cross in token where he lay, 

For on the cross, he said, his Lord had died! 
Now hath he surely reached, o’er mount and wave, 
That flowery land whose green turf hides no grave. 

“But I am sad!—I mourn the clear light taken 
Back from my people, o’er whose place it shone, 
The pathway to the better shore forsaken, 

And the true words forgotten, save by one, 

Who hears them faintly sounding from the past, 
Mingled with death-songs in each fitful blast.” 

Then spoke the wanderer forth with kindling eye: 

“Son of the wilderness! despair thou not, 

Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone by, 
And the cloud settled o’er thy nation’s lot! 

Heaven darkly works;—yet, where the seed hath 
been 

There shall the fruitage, glowing yet, be seen. 

“Hope on, hope ever!—by the sudden springing 
Of green leaves which the winter hid so long; 
And by the bursts of free, triumphant singing, 

After cold silent months, the woods among; 

And by the rending of the frozen chains, 

Which bound the glorious rivers on their plains; 

“Deem not the words of light that here were spoken, 
But as a lovely song, to leave no trace; 

Yet shall the gloom which wraps thy hills be broken. 

And the full dayspring rise upon thy race! 

And fading mists the better path disclose, 

And the wide desert blossom as the rose.” 


104 


Standard Literary Selections. 


So by the cross they parted, in the wild, 

Each fraught with musings for life’s after-day, 
Memories to visit one, the forest’s child, 

By many a blue stream in its lonely way; 

And upon one, midst busy throngs to press 
Deep thoughts and sad, yet full of holiness. 

— Mrs. He mans. 


LESSON XXVIII. 

LEO, THE TENTH. 

By no circumstances in the character of an in¬ 
dividual is the love of literature so strongly evinced 
as by the propensity for collecting together the 
writings of illustrious scholars, and compressing 
“the soul of ages past” within the narrow limits of 
a library. Few persons have distinguished this 
passion in an equal degree with Leo the Tenth, and 
still fewer have had an equal opportunity of gratify¬ 
ing it. We have already seen that in the year 1508, 
whilst he was yet a cardinal, he had purchased from 
the monks of the convent of St. Marco, at Florence, 
the remains of the celebrated library of his ances¬ 
tors, and had transferred it to his own house in 
Rome. Unwilling, however, to deprive his native 
place of so invaluable a treasure, he had not, on his 
elevation to the pontificate, thought proper to unite 
this collection with that of the Vatican, but had en- 



Standard Literary Selections. 105 

trusted it to the care of the learned Varino Camerti, 
intending again to remove it to Florence, as the 
place of its final destination. This design, which he 
was prevented from executing by his death, was 
afterwards carried into effect by the cardinal 
Guilio di Medici, who, before he attained the su¬ 
preme dignity, had engaged the great artist, Michael 
Angelo Buonarotti, to erect the magnificent and 
spacious edifice near the Church of St. Lorenzo, at 
Florence, where these inestimable treasures were 
afterwards deposited; and where, with consider¬ 
able additions from subsequent benefactors, they yet 
remain, forming an immense collection of manu¬ 
scripts of the Oriental, Greek, Roman, and Italian 
writers, now denominated the “Bibiotheca Mediceo 
Lutherntiana.” 

The care of Leo the Tenth in the preservation 
of his domestic library did not, however, prevent 
him from bestowing the most sedulous attention in 
augmenting that which was destined to the use of 
himself and successors in the palace of the Vatican. 
This collection, begun by that excellent and learned 
sovereign, Nicholas the Fifth, and greatly increased 
by succeeding pontiffs, was already deposited in a 
suitable edifice, erected for the purpose by Sixtus 
the Fourth, and was considered as the most exten¬ 
sive assemblage of literary productions in Italy. The 
envoys employed by Leo the Tenth on affairs of 
State in various parts of Europe, were directed to 
avail themselves of every opportunity of obtaining 
these precious remains of antiquity, and men of 
learning were frequently despatched to remote and 


io6 Standard Literary Selections. 

barbarous countries for the sole purpose of discov¬ 
ering and rescuing these works from destruction. 
Nor did the pontiff hesitate to render his high office 
subservient to the promotion of an object which he 
considered of the utmost importance to the interest 
of literature, by requiring the assistance of the other 
sovereigns of Christendom in giving effect to his 
researches. In the year 1517 he despatched his 
envoy, John Helymens de Zonvelben, on a mission 
to Germany, Denmark, Sweden, and Gothland, for 
the sole purpose of inquiring after literary works, 
and particularly historical compositions. This en¬ 
voy was furnished with letters from the Pope to the 
different sovereigns through whose dominions he 
had to pass, earnestly entreating them to promote 
the object of his visit by every means in their power. 
Some of these letters yet remain, and afford a de¬ 
cisive proof of the ardour with which Leo the 
Tenth engaged in this pursuit. With a similar view 
he despatched to Venice the celebrated Agostino 
Beazzano, whom he furnished with letters to the 
Doge Loredano, directing him to spare no expense 
in the acquisition of manuscripts of the Greek 
authors. Efforts so persevering could not fail of 
success, and the Vatican Library during the pontif¬ 
icate of Leo the Tenth was augmented by many valu¬ 
able works, which, without his vigilance and liber¬ 
ality, would probably have been lost to the world. 

After the pages which have already been devoted 
to enumerate the services rendered by Leo the 
Tenth to all liberal studies by the establishment of 
learned seminaries, by the recovery of the works of 
the ancient writers, and the publication of them by 


Standard Literary Selections. 107 

means of the press, by promoting the knowledge of 
the Greek and Latin languages, and the munificent 
encouragements bestowed by him on the professors 
of every branch of science, of literature, and of art, 
it would surely be as superfluous to recapitulate his 
claims, as it would be unjust to deny his pretensions 
to an eminent degree of merit. 

That an astonishing proficiency in the improve¬ 
ment of the human intellect was made during the 
pontificate of Leo the Tenth is universally allowed. 
That such proficiency is principally to be attributed 
to the exertions of that pontiff, will now, perhaps, 
be thought equally indisputable. Of the predomi¬ 
nant influence of a powerful individual on the char¬ 
acters and manners of the age, the history of man¬ 
kind furnishes innumerable instances; and happy 
it is for the world when the pursuits of such indi¬ 
viduals, instead of being devoted, through blind am¬ 
bition, to the subjugation or destruction of the hu¬ 
man race, are directed towards those beneficent and 
generous ends which, amid all his avocations, Leo 
the Tenth appears to have kept continually in view. 

— Roscoe. 


LESSON XXIX 

JOAN OF ARC AT RHEIMS 

That was a joyous day in Rheims of old. 

When peal on peal of mighty music rolled 
Forth from her thronged cathedral; while around, 
A multitude, whose billows made no sound, 



lo8 Standard Literary Selections. 

Chained to a hush of wonder, though elate 
With victory, listened at their temple’s gate. 

And what was done within ?—within, the light, 
Through the rich gloom of pictured windows 
flowing, 

Tinged with soft awfulness a stately sight— 

The chivalry of France their proud heads bowing 
In martial vassalage!—while midst that ring, 

And shadowed by ancestral tombs, a king 
Received his birthright’s crown. For this, the hymn 
Swelled out like rushing waters, and the day 
With the sweet censer’s misty breath grew dim, 

As through long aisles it floated o’er the array 
Of arms and sweeping stoles. But who, alone 
And unapproached, beside the altar-stone, 

With the white banner forth like sunshine stream¬ 
ing, 

And the gold helm, through clouds of fragrance 
gleaming, 

Silent and radiant stood ?—the helm was raised, 

And the fair face revealed, that upward gazed, 
Intensely worshipping:—a still, clear face, 
Youthful, but brightly solemn!—Woman’s cheek 
And brow were there, in deep devotion meek, 

Yet glorified, with inspiration’s trace 
On its pure paleness; while, enthroned above, 

The pictured virgin, with her smile of love, 

Seemed bending o’er her votaress.—That slight 
form! 

Was that the leader through the battle storm ? 

Had the soft light in that adoring eye 

Guided the warrior where the swords flashed high? 

’Twas so, even so!—and thou, the shepherd’s child, 


Standard Literary Selections. 109 

Joanne, the lowly dreamer of the wild! 

Never before, and never since that hour, 

Hath woman, mantled with victorious power, 

Stood forth as thou beside the shrine didst stand, 
Holy amidst the knighthood of the land; 

And, beautiful with joy and with renown, 

Lift thy white banner o’er the olden crown, 
Ransomed for France by thee! 

The rites are done. 

Now let the dome with trumpet-notes be shaken, 
And bid the echoes of the tomb awaken, 

And come thou forth, that heaven’s rejoicing sun 
May give thee welcome from thine own blue skies, 
Daughter of victory!—a triumphant strain, 

A proud rich stream of warlike melodies, 

Gushed through the portals of the antique fane, 
And forth she came.—Then rose a nation’s sound: 
Oh! what a power to bid the quick heart bound. 
The wind bears onward with the stormy cheer 
Man gives to glory on her high career! 

Is there indeed such power?—far deeper dwells 
In one kind household voice, to reach the cells 
Whence happiness flows forth!—The shouts that 
filled 

The hollow heaven tempestuously, were stilled 
One moment; and in that brief pause, the tone, 

As of a breeze that o’er her home had blown, 

Sank on the bright maid’s heart.—“Joanne!”—Who 
spoke 

Like those whose childhood with her childhood 


grew 


I IO 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Under one roof?—“Joanne!”— that murmur broke 
With sounds of weeping forth!—She turned— 
she knew 

Beside her, marked from all the thousands there, 

In the calm beauty of his silver hair, 

The stately shepherd; and the youth whose joy 
From his dark eye flashed proudly; and the boy, 
The youngest-born, that ever loved her best; 
“Father! and ye, my brothers!”—On the breast 
Of that gray sire she sank—and swiftly back, 

Ev’n in an instant, to their native track 
Her free thoughts flowed.—She saw the pomp no 
more— 

The plumes, the banners; to her cabin-door, 

And to the Fairy’s fountain in the glade, 

Where her young sisters by her side had played, 
And to her hamlet’s chapel, where it rose 
Hallowing the forest unto deep repose, 

Her spirit turned.—The very wood-note, sung 
In early spring-time by the bird, which dwelt 
Where o’er her father’s roof the beech-leaves hung, 
Was in her heart; a music heard and felt, 
Winning her back to nature.—She unbound 
The helm of many battles from her head, 

And, with her bright locks bowed to sweep the 
ground, 

Lifting her voice up, wept for joy and said,— 
“Bless me, my father! bless me! and with thee, 

To the still cabin and the beechen tree, 

Let me return!” 

Oh! never did thine eye 
Through the green haunts of happy infancy 
Wander again, Joanne!—too much of fame 


Standard Literary Selections. 


hi 


Had shed its radiance on thy peasant name; 

And bought alone by gifts beyond all price,— 

The trusting heart’s repose, the paradise 
Of home with ail its loves, doth fate allow 
The crown of glory unto woman’s brow. 

— Mrs. Hemans. 


LESSON XXX 

THE DISCOVERY OF AMERICA 

In the foreground of American history there 
stand these three figures—a lady, a sailor, and a 
monk. Might they not be thought to typify Faith, 
Hope, and Charity? The lady is especially de¬ 
serving of honour. Years after his first success, 
the admiral [Columbus] wrote: “In the midst of 
general incredulity, the Almighty infused into the 
queen, my lady, the spirit of intelligence and en¬ 
ergy. While every one else in his ignorance was 
expatiating on the cost and inconvenience, her 
highness approved of it on the contrary, and gave 
it all the support in her power.” 

And what were the distinguishing qualities of this 
foster-mother of American discovery? Fervent piety, 
unfeigned humility, profound reverence for the 
Holy See, a spotless life as a daughter, mother and 
queen. “She is,” says a Protestant author, “one of 
the purest and most beautiful characters in the 
pages of history.” Her life had won for her the 
title of “the Catholic.” Other queens have been 
celebrated for beauty, for magnificence, for learn- 



112 


Standard Literary Selections. 


ing, or for good fortune; but the foster-mother of 
America alone, of all the women of history, is 
called “the Catholic ” 

As to the conduct of the undertaking, we have 
first to remark, that on the port of Palos the original 
outfit depended, and Palos itself depended on the 
neighbouring convent. In the refectory of La 
Rabida, the agreement was made between Colum¬ 
bus and the Pinzons. From the porch of the Church 
of St. George, the royal orders were read to the 
astonished townsfolk. 

The aids and assurances of religion were brought 
into requisition to encourage sailors, always a su¬ 
perstitious generation, to embark on this mysterious 
voyage. On the morning of their departure a tem¬ 
porary chapel was erected with spars and sails on 
the strand; and there in sight of their vessels rid¬ 
ing at shortened anchors, the three crews, number¬ 
ing in all one hundred and twenty souls, received 
the Blessed Sacrament. Rising from their knees, 
they departed with the benediction of the Church, 
like the breath of heaven, filling their sails. 

On the night before the discovery of the first 
land, after the Salve Regina, had been chanted, ac¬ 
cording to his biographers, the admiral made an 
impressive address to his crew. His speech must 
have been one of the most catholic orations ever 
delivered in the New World. It has not been re¬ 
corded; it can never be invented. We can, indeed, 
conceive what a lofty homily on confidence in God, 
and His ever Blessed Mother, such a man so situ¬ 
ated would be able to deliver. 

We can imagine we see him as he stands on the 


Standard Literary Selections. 113 

darkened deck of the Sancta Maria, his thin locks 
lifted by the breeze already odorous of land, and his 
right hand pointing onward to the west. We almost 
hear him exclaim, “Yonder lies the land! Where 
you can see only night and vacancy, I behold India 
and Cathay. The darkness of the hour will pass 
away, and with it the night of nations. Cities more 
beautiful than Seville, countries more fertile than 
Andalusia, are off yonder. 

“There lies the terrestrial paradise, watered with 
its four rivers of life; there lies the golden Ophir, 
from which Solomon, the son of David, drew the 
ore that adorned the temple of the living God. There 
we shall find whole nations unknown to Christ, to 
whom you, ye favoured companions of my voyage, 
shall be the first to bring the glad tidings of great 
joy proclaimed of old by angels’ lips to the shep¬ 
herds of Chaldea!” But, alas, who shall attempt the 
words spoken by such a man at such a moment, on 
the last night of expectation and uncertainty—the 
eve of the birthday of a new world ? 

Columbus and his companions landed on the 
morning of the 12th of October, 1492, on the little 
island which they called San Salvador. Three boats 
conveyed them to the shore; over each boat floated 
a broad banner, blazoned with “a green cross.” On 
reaching the land the admiral threw himself on his 
knees, kissed the earth, and shed tears of joy. Then, 
raising his voice, he uttered aloud that short but 
fervent prayer, which, after him, all Catholic dis¬ 
coverers were wont to repeat. 

It is in these words: “O Lord God, Eternal and 
Omnipotent, who by Thy divine word hast created 


114 Standard Literary Selections. 

the heavens, the earth, and the sea, blessed and 
glorified be Thy name, and praised Thy majesty, 
who hast deigned by me, Thy humble servant, to 
have that sacred name made known and preached 
in this other part of the world!” 

The nomenclature used by the great discoverer, 
like all his acts, is essentially Catholic. Neither his 
own nor his patron’s name is precipitated, on cape, 
river, or island. San Salvador, Santa Trinidada, 
San Domingo, San Nicholas, San Jago, Santa 
Maria, Santa Marta,—these are the mementos of 
his first successes. All egotism, all selfish policy, 
was utterly lost in the overpowering sense of being 
but an instrument in the hands of Providence. 

After cruising a couple of months among the 
Bahamas, and discovering many new islands, he 
returns to Spain. In his homeward voyage two 
tempests threaten to engulf his solitary ship. In the 
darkest hour he supplicates Our Blessed Lady, his 
dear patroness. He vows a pilgrimage barefoot to 
her nearest shrine, whatever land he makes; a vow 
punctually fulfilled. Safely he reaches the Azores, 
the Tagus, and the port of Palos. His first act is a 
solemn procession to the Church of St. George, 
from which the royal orders had been first made 
known. 

He next writes in this strain to the treasurer, 
Sanchez: “Let processions be made, let festivities 
be held, let churches be filled with branches and 
flowers, for Christ rejoices on earth, as in heaven, 
seeing the future redemption of souls.” The court 
was at the time at Barcelona, and thither he re- 


Standard Literary Selections. i i 5 

paired with the living evidences of his success. 
Seated on the royal dais, with the aborigines, the 
fruits, flowers, birds, and metals, spread out before 
them, he told to princes his wondrous tale. 

As soon as he had ended, “the king and queen, 
with all present, prostrated themselves on their 
knees in grateful thanksgiving, while the solemn 
strains of the Te Deum were poured forth by the 
choir of the royal chapel, as in commemoration of 
some great victory!” To place beyond any suppo¬ 
sition of doubt the Catholicity of this extraordinary 
event, one evidence is still wanting—the official par¬ 
ticipation of the Sovereign Pontiff. That it had 
from the outset. 

—Thomas D’Arcy M’Gee. 


LESSON XXXI 

EDWARD THE CONFESSOR 

If we estimate the character of a sovereign by 
the test of popular affection, we must rank Edward 
among the best prince's of his time. The goodness 
of his heart was adored by his subjects, who la¬ 
mented his death with tears of undissembled grief, 
and bequeathed his memory as an object of ven¬ 
eration to their posterity. The blessings of his 
reign are the constant theme of our ancient writers; 
not, indeed, that he displayed any of those brilliant 
qualities which attract admiration, while they inflict 



Ii6 Standard Literary Selections. 

misery. He could not boast of the victories which 
he had achieved; but he exhibited the interesting 
spectacle of a king negligent of his private inter¬ 
ests, and totally devoted to the welfare of his people; 
and by his labours to restore the dominion of the 
laws; his vigilance, to ward off foreign aggression; 
his constant, and ultimately successful solicitude, to 
appease the feuds of his nobles; if he did not pre¬ 
vent the interruption, he secured at least a longer 
duration of public tranquility than had been enjoyed 
in England for half a century. He was pious, kind, 
and compassionate; the father of the poor, and the 
protector of the weak; more willing to give than to 
receive; and better pleased to pardon than to punish. 
Under the preceding kings, force generally supplied 
the place of justice, and the people were impover¬ 
ished by the rapacity of the sovereign. But Edward 
enforced the laws of his Saxon predecessors, and 
disdained the riches which were wrung from the 
labour of his subjects. Temperate in his diet, unos¬ 
tentatious in his person, pursuing no pleasures but 
those which his hawks and hounds afforded, he was 
content with the patrimonial demesnes of the crown; 
and was able to assert, even after the abolition of 
that fruitful source of revenue, the Dane-gelt, that 
he possessed a greater portion of wealth than any 
of his predecessors had enjoyed. To him the prin¬ 
ciple that the king can do no wrong, was literally 
applied by the gratitude of his people, who, if they 
occasionally complained of the measures of the 
government, attributed the blame, not to the mon¬ 
arch himself, of whose benevolence they entertained 
no doubt, but to the ministers, who had abused his 


Standard Literary Selections. 117 

confidence, or deceived his credulity. It was, how¬ 
ever, a fortunate circumstance for the memory of 
Edward, that he occupied the interval between the 
Danish and Norman conquests. Writers were in¬ 
duced to view his character with more partiality, 
from the hatred with which they looked on his suc¬ 
cessors, and predecessors. They were foreigners; 
he was a native; they held the crown by conquest; 
he by descent; they ground to the dust the slaves 
whom they had made ; he became known to his coun¬ 
trymen only by his benefits. Hence, he appeared to 
shine with purer light amid the gloom with which 
he was surrounded ’; and whenever the people, under 
the despotism of the Norman kings, had any oppor¬ 
tunity of expressing their real wishes, they con¬ 
stantly called for “the laws and customs of the good 
King Edward.” 

— Dr. Lingard. 


LESSON XXXII 
prince amadis 

Prince Amadis lay in a flowery brake, 

By the side of Locarno’s silver lake: 

It seems a very long while ago, 

Or else it may be that time goes slow. 

Those were the days when the world of spirit 
Filled the old earth to the brim, or near it; 
And marvels were wrought by wizard elves, 
Which happen but rarely among ourselves. 



iiS Standard Literary Selections. 

The heart of Prince Amadis did not pant 
With an indwelling love, or blameless want 
Of chivalrous friendship, or thirst of power; 

His youth was enough for its own bright hour. 

He floated o’er life like a noon-tide breeze, 

Or cradled vapor on sunny seas, 

Or an exquisite cloud, in light arrayed, 

Which sails through the sky and can throw no shade. 

Wishes he had, but no hopes and no fears; 

He smiled, but his smiles were not gendered of tears : 
Like a beautiful mute he played his part, 

Too happy by far in his own young heart! 

His twentieth summer was well nigh past, 

Each was more golden and gay than the last; 

The glory of earth, which to others grows dim, 
Through his unclouded years glittered fresher to 
him. __ 

And oh how he loved! From the hour of his birth. 
He was gentle to all the bright insects of earth; 

He sate by the green gilded lizards for hours, 

And laughed, for pure love, at the shoals of pied 
flowers. 

As he walked through the woods in the cool of the 
day, 

He stooped to each blossom that grew by the way; 
He tapped at the rind of the old cedar trees, 

When its weak breath had sweetened the evening 
breeze. 


Standard Literary Selections. 119 

He knew all the huge oaks, the wide forest’s gems. 
By their lightning-cleft branches or sisterly stems; 
He knew the crowned pines where the starlight is 
best, 

And the likeliest banks where the moon would rest. 

He studied with joy the old mossy walls, 

And probed with his finger their cavernous halls, 
Where the wren builds her nest, and the lady-bird 
.slumbers, 

Whilst winter his short months of icy wind numbers. 

All things were holy and dear to his mind, 

All things,—except the hot heart of his kind, 

And that seemed a flower in a withered hood, 
Which the cold spring cankered within the bud. 

The wrongs of the peasant, the woes of the peer, 
Ne’er wrung from the prince a true sigh or a tear; 
The strife of his fellows seemed heartlessly bright, 
Like the laurels in winter in cold moonlight. 

He cared for no sympathy, living in throngs 
Of his own sunny thoughts, and his mute inward 
songs; 

And if in the sunset his spirit was weary, 

Sleep was hard by him, young health’s sanctuary. 

’Twould not have been so had he e’er known his 
mother, 

Or had had, save the green earth, a playmate and 
brother; 

For deep in his heart a most wonderful power 
Of loving lay hid, like an unopened flower. 


120 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Ah! luckless it is when a spirit is haunted 
By all kindly powers, but attractions are wanted, 
Life’s outward attractions, by calm, pensive law, 
Love, sorrow, and pity, from shy hearts to draw! 

Yet mid all the natural forms of delight, 

Whose footfalls stole round him by day or by night, 
He was pure as the white lily’s dew-beaded cup, 
Which, bold because stainless, to heaven looks up. 

His mind was a fair desert temple of beauty, 
Unshaded by sorrow, unhallowed by duty; 

A dream in a garden, a midsummer bliss 

Was the youth, the bright youth, of Prince Amadis. 

—Frederick William Faber. 


LESSON XXXIII 

VENICE 

And how is Venice to be described ? What words 
can I use to express that vision, that thing of magic 
which lay before us ? All nature seemed in harmony 
with our natural meditations. Never was there so 
wan a sunlight, never was there so pale a blue, as 
stood about Venice that day. And there it was a 
most visionary city, rising as if by enchantment out 
of the gentle-mannered Adriatic, the waveless Adri¬ 
atic. One by one rose steeple, tower and dome, 
street and marble palace. They rose to our eyes 
slowly, as if from the weedy deeps; and then they 



Standard Literary Selections. 


121 


and their images wavered and floated, like a dream, 
upon the pale, sunny sea. As we glided onward 
from Fusina in our gondola, the beautiful buildings, 
with their strange eastern architecture, seemed like 
fairy ships, to totter, to steady themselves, and to 
come to anchor one by one; and where the shadow 
was and the palace was you scarce could tell. And 
there was San Marco, and there the Ducal Palace, 
and there the Bridge of Sighs, and the very shades 
of the Balbi, Foscari, Pisani, Bembi, seemed to hover 
about the winged lion of St. Mark. And all this, 
all to the right and left, all was Venice; and it 
needed the sharp grating of the gondola against the 
stair to bid us to be sure it was not all a dream. 

We spent the evening in a gondola, shooting 
over the blue canals of this enchanted city. It was 
a mazy dream of marble palaces, old names, fair 
churches, strange costumes; while the canals were 
like the silver threads, the bright unities of one of 
sleep’s well-woven visions. We seemed to be actors 
for a night in some Arabian tale. The evening left 
no distinct remembrances. The pleasure of the ex¬ 
citement absorbed everything. 

However, we awakened next morning, and found 
it was not all a dream. Venice was still there, and 
the shadows of her palaces were heaving on the 
water. The sea was no longer the blue of Genoa, 
but a delicate pale green, like the back of a lizard; 
and the sky was cloudless, yet a pearly white; and 
the transparent sea-haze which hung over the city 
seemed to float like a veil. It looked more wonder¬ 
ful, more dreamlike, than ever. It brought Cana- 
letti’s pictures strongly to mind; yet not even those 


122 


Standard Literary Selections. 


convey the colours as they really are—a white, 
blue, green, and red, utterly unlike any other white, 
blue, green, and red I ever saw in nature or in art; 
yet who is there that has ever been at Venice, but 
will confess that the memories of that fair city re¬ 
fuse to blend with any other in his mind ? They de¬ 
mand a temple to be built for themselves. They 
will be enshrined apart from the recollections of all 
other places. And willingly is this conceded to thee, 
thou glittering vision! It is long, long before the 
glory of wonder and delight wears off from the 
memory of the bewildering thing thou art, sitting in 
the white sunshine by the sea! 

—Frederick William Faber. 


LESSON XXXIV 

SUNDAY 

There is a Sabbath won for us, 

A Sabbath stored above, 

A service of eternal calm, 

An altar-rite of love. 

There is a sabbath won for us, 

Where we shall ever wait 
In mute or voiceless ministries. 

Upon the Immaculate. 

There shall transfigured souls be filled 
With Christ’s Eternal Name, 

Dipped, like bright censers, in the sea 
Of molten glass and flame. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


123 


Yet set not in thy thoughts too far 
Our Heaven and Earth apart, 

Lest thou shouldst wrong the Heaven begun 
Already in thv heart. 

Though Heaven’s above and Earth’s below, 
Yet are they but one state, 

And each the other with sweet skill 
Doth interpenetrate. 

Yea, many a tie and office blest, 

In earthly lots uneven, 

Hath an immortal place to fill, 

And is a root of Heaven. 

And surely Sundays bright and calm, 

So calm, so bright as this, 

AreTastes imparted from above 
Of higher Sabbath bliss. 

We own no gloomy ordinance, J 

No weary Jewish day, 

But- weekly Easters, 'ever bright 
With pure domestic ray ; 

A feast of thought, a feast of sight, 

A feast of joyous sound, 

A feast of thankful hearts, at rest, 

From labor’s wheel unbound; 

A day of such homekeeping bliss 
As on the poor may wait, 

With all such lower joys as best 
Befit his human state. 


124 


Standard Literary Selections. 


He sees among the hornbeam boughs 
The little sparkling flood; 

The mill-wheel rests, a quiet thing 
Of black and mossy wood. 

He sees the fields lie in the sun, 

He hears the plovers crying; 

The plough and harrow, both upturned, 
Are in the furrows lying. 

In simple faith he may believe 
That earth’s diurnal way 

Doth, like its Blessed Maker, pause 
Upon this hallowed day. 

And should he ask, the happy man, 

If Heaven be aught like this:— 

’Tis Heaven within him, breeding there 
The love of quiet bliss. 

Oh leave the man, my fretful friend! 

To follow nature’s ways, 

Nor breathe to him that Christian feasts 
Are no true holydays. 

Is Earth to be as nothing here, 

When we are sons of Earth ? 

May not the body and the heart 
Share in the spirit’s mirth? 

When thou hast cut each earthly hold 
Whereto his soul may cling, 

Will the poor creature left behind 
Be more a heavenly thing? 


Standard Literary Selections. 


125 


Heaven fades away before our eyes, 

Heaven fades within our heart, 

Because in thought our Heaven and Earth 
Are cast too far apart. 

—Frederick William Faber. 


LESSON XXXV 

ISABELLA OF CASTILE 

In the meanwhile Isabella [during her illness] 
lost nothing of her solicitude for the welfare of her 
people, and the great concerns of government. While 
reclining, as she was obliged to do a great part of 
the day, on her couch, she listened to the recital or 
reading of whatever occurred of interest at home 
or abroad. She gave audience to distinguished for¬ 
eigners, especially such Italians as could acquaint 
her with particulars of the late war, and above all in 
regard to Gonsalvo de Cordova, in whose fortunes 
she had always taken the liveliest concern. She re¬ 
ceived with pleasure, too, such intelligent travellers 
as her renown had attracted to the Castilian court. 
She drew forth their stores of various information, 
and dismissed them, says a writer of the age, pene¬ 
trated with the deepest admiration of that strength 
of mind which sustained her so nobly under the 
weight of a mortal malady. 

This malady was now rapidly gaining ground. 
On the 15th of October we have another epistle of 
Martyr, of the following melancholy tenor: “You 



126 


Standard Literary Selections. 


ask me respecting the state of the queen’s health. 
We sit sorrowful in the palace all day long, trem¬ 
blingly waiting the hour when religion and virtue 
shall quit the earth with her. Let us pray that we 
may be permitted to follow hereafter where she is 
soon to go. She so far transcends all human ex¬ 
cellence, that there is scarcely anything of mortality 
about her. She can hardly be said to die, but to pass 
into a nobler existence, which should rather excite 
our envy than our sorrow. She leaves the world 
filled with her renown, and she goes to enjoy life 
eternal with her God in heaven. I write this,’’ he 
concludes, “between hope and fear, while the breath 
is still fluttering within her.” 

The deepest gloom now overspread the nation. 
Even Isabella’s long illness had failed to prepare the 
minds of her faithful people for the sad catastrophe. 
Isabella in the meantime was deluded with no false 
hopes. She felt too surely the decay of her bodily 
strength, and she resolved to perform what temporal 
duties yet remained for her, while her faculties were 
yet unclouded. 

On the 12th of October she executed that cele¬ 
brated testament which reflects so clearly the pe¬ 
culiar qualities of her mind and character. She begins 
with prescribing the arrangements for her burial. 
She orders her remains to be transported to Granada, 
to the Franciscan monastery of Santa Isabella in the 
Alhambra, and there deposited in a low and humble 
sepulchre, without other memorial than a plain in¬ 
scription on it. “But,” she continues, “should the 
king, my lord, prefer a sepulchre in some other place, 
then my will is that my body be there transported, 


Standard Literary Selections. 127 

and laid by his side; that the union we have enjoyed 
in this world, and, through the mercy of God, may 
hope again for our souls in heaven, may be repre¬ 
sented by our bodies in the earth.” Then, desirous 
of correcting by her example, in this last act of her 
life, the wasteful pomp of funeral obsequies to 
which the Castilians were addicted, she commanded 
that her own should be performed in the plainest 
and most unostentatious manner, and that the sum 
saved by this economy should be distributed in alms 
among the poor. 

Concluding in the same beautiful strain of con¬ 
jugal tenderness in which she began, she says, “I 
beseech the king, my lord, that he will accept all my 
jewels, or such as he shall select, so that, seeing 
them, he may be reminded of the singular love I 
bore him while living, and that I am now waiting 
for him in a better world; by which remembrance 
he may be encouraged to live more justly and holily 
in this.” 

She had now adjusted all her worldly concerns, 
and she prepared to devote herself during the brief 
space which remained, to those of a higher nature. 
It was but the last act of a life of preparation. She 
had the misfortune, common to persons of her rank, 
to be separated in her last moments from those 
whose filial tenderness might have done so much 
to soften the bitterness of death. But she had the 
good fortune, most rare, to have secured for this try¬ 
ing hour, the solace of disinterested friendship; for 
she beheld around her the friends of her childhood, 
formed and proved in the dark season of adversity. 


128 


Standard Literary Selections. 


As she saw them bathed in tears around her bed, 
she calmly said: “Do not weep for me, nor waste 
your time in fruitless prayers for my recovery, but 
pray rather for the salvation of my soul.” At length, 
having received the sacraments, and performed all 
the offices of a sincere and devout Christian, she 
gently expired a little before noon, on Wednesday, 
November 26, 1504, in the fifty-fourth year of her 
age, and thirtieth of her reign. 

“My hand,” says Peter Martyr, in a letter written 
on the same day to the Archbishop of Granada, 
“falls powerless by my side, for very sorrow. The 
world has lost its noblest ornament; a loss to be de¬ 
plored not only by Spain, which she has so long 
carried forward in the career of glory, but by every 
nation in Christendom; for she was the mirror of 
every virtue, the shield of the innocent, and an 
avenging sword to the wicked. I know of none of 
her sex, in ancient or modern times, who in my 
judgment is at all worthy to be named with this in¬ 
comparable woman.” 

Isabella was of the middle height and well pro¬ 
portioned. She had a clear, fresh complexion, with 
light blue eyes, and auburn hair—a style of beauty 
exceedingly rare in Spain. Her features were regu¬ 
lar, and universally allowed to be uncommonly 
handsome. The illusion which attaches to rank, 
more especially when united with engaging manners, 
might lead us to suspect some exaggeration in the 
encomiums so liberally lavished on her. But they 
would seem to be in a great measure justified by the 
portraits that remain of her, which combine a fault- 


Standard Literary Selections. 129 

less symmetry of features, with singular sweetness 
and intelligence of expression. 

Her manners were most gracious and pleasing. 
They were marked by natural dignity and modest 
reserve, tempered by an affability which flowed from 
the kindliness of her disposition. She was the last 
person to be approached with undue familiarity; 
yet the respect which she imposed was mingled with 
the strongest feelings of devotion and love. 

Among her moral qualities, the most conspic¬ 
uous, perhaps, was her magnanimity. She betrayed 
nothing little or selfish in thought or action. Her 
schemes were vast, and executed in the same noble 
spirit in which they were conceived. She scorned 
to avail herself of advantages offered by the perfidy 
of others. Where she had once given her confidence, 
she gave her hearty and steady support; and she was 
scrupulous to redeem any pledge she had made to 
those who had ventured in her cause. She sustained 
Ximenes in all hissalutary reforms. She seconded 
Columbus in the prosecution of his arduous enter¬ 
prise, and shielded him from the calumny of his 
enemies. She did the same good service to her fav¬ 
orite, Gonsalvo de Cordova; and. the. day of. her 
death was, and, as it proved, truly for both, as the 
last of their good fortune. Artifice and duplicity 
were abhorrent to her character. She was incapable 
of harbouring any petty distrust or latent malice; 
and although stern in the execution and exaction of 
public justice, she made the most generous allow¬ 
ance, and even sometimes advances, to those who 
had personally injured her. 


130 


Standard Literary Selections. 


But the principle which gave a peculiar colour¬ 
ing to every feature of Isabella’s mind, was her 
piety. It shone forth from the very depths of her 
soul with a heavenly radiance which illumined her 
whole character. Fortunately her earliest years had 
been passed in the rugged school of adversity, under 
the eye of a mother who implanted in her serious 
mind such strong principles of religion as nothing 
in after-life had power to shake. 

—William H. Prescott. 


LESSON XXXVI 

THE LILY OF CHERWELL 

Bright came the last departing gleam 
To lonely Cherwell’s silent stream, 

And for a moment stayed to smile 
On tall St. Mary’s graceful pile. 

But brighter still the glory stood 
On Marston’s scattered lines of wood. 

The lights that through the leaves were sent, 
Of gold and green were richly blent; 

Oh! beautiful they were to see, 

Gilding the trunk of many a tree, 

Just ere the colors died away, 

In evening’s meditated gray. 

Sweet meadow-flowers were round me spread, 
And many a budding birch-tree shed 
Its woodland perfume there; 

And from its pinkly-clustering boughs. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


131 


A fragrance mild the hawthorn throws 
Upon the tranquil air. 

Deep rung St. Mary’s stately chime 
The holy hour of compline time, 

And, as the solemn sounds I caught 
Over the distant meadows brought, 

I heard the raptured nightingale 
Tell, from yon elmy grove, his tale 
Of melancholy love, 

In thronging notes that seemed to fall 
As faultless and as musical 
As angel strains above: 

So sweet, they cast on all things round 
A spell of melody profound. 

They charmed the river in its flowing, 

They stayed the night-wind in its blowing, 
They lulled the lily to her rest, 

Upon the Cherwell’s heaving breast. 

How often doth a wild flower bring 
Fancies and thoughts that seem to spring 
From inmost depths of feeling! 

Nay, often they have power to bless 
With their uncultured loveliness, 

And far into the aching breast 
There goes a heavenly thought of rest 
With their soft influence stealing. 

How often, too, can ye unlock, 

Dear Wildflowers! with a gentle shock, 

The wells of holy tears, 

While somewhat of a Christian light 
Breaks sweetly on the mourner’s sight 
To calm unquiet fears! 

Ah! surely such strange power is given 


132 


Standard Literary Selections. 


To lovely flowers, like dew, from heaven; 
For lessons oft by them are brought, 
Deeper than mortal sage hath taught, 
Lessons of wisdom pure, that rise 
From some clear fountains in the skies! 

Fairest of Flora’s lovely daughters 
That bloom by stilly-running waters, 

Fair lily! thou a type must be 
Of virgin love and purity! 

Fragrant thou art as any flower 
That decks a lady’s garden bower. 

But he who would thy sweetness know, 
Must stoop and bend his loving brow 
To catch thy scent, so faint and rare 
Scarce breathed upon the summer’s air. 

And all thy motions, too, how free, 

And yet how fraught with sympathy! 

So pale thy tint, as meek thy gleam 
Shed on thy kindly father-stream! 

Still, as he swayeth to and fro, 

How true in all thy goings, 

As if thy very soul did know 
The secret of his flowings. 

And then that heart of living gold, 

Which thou dost modestly infold, 

And screen from man’s too searching view 
Within thy robe of snowy hue! 

To careless men thou seem’st to roam 
Abroad upon the river, 

In all thy movements chained to home. 
Fast-rooted there forever: 

Linked by a holy hidden tie. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


133 


Too subtle for a mortal eye, 

Nor riveted by mortal art, 

Deep down within thy father’s heart. 

Emblem in truth thou art to me 
Of all a daughter ought to be! 

How shall I liken thee, sweet flower! 

That other men may feel thy power, 

May seek thee on some lovely night, 

And say how strong, how chaste the might. 

The tie of filial duty, 

How graceful too, and angel-bright, 

The pride of lowly beauty! 

Thou sittest on the varying tide 
As if thy spirit did preside 
With a becoming queenly grace, 

As mistress of this lonely place; 

A quiet magic hast thou now 
To smooth the river’s ruffled brow, 

And calm his rippling water; 

And yet so delicate and airy, 

Thou art to him a very fairy, 

A widowed father’s only daughter. 

—Frederick William Faber. 


LESSON XXXVII 

THE MESSIAH 

Rapt into future times, the bard begun: 

A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a son! 
From Jesse’s root behold a branch arise, 

Whose sacred flow’r with fragrance fills the skies: 



134 Standard Literary Selections. 

The ethereal Spirit o’er its leaves shall move, 
And on its top descends the mystic dove. 

Ye heavens! from high the dewy nectar pour, 

And in soft silence shed the kindly show’r! 

The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid, 
From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade, 

All crimes shall cease, and ancient fraud shall fail 
Returning Justice lift aloft her scale; 

Peace o’er the world her olive wand extend. 

And white-robed Innocence from heaven descend. 
Swift fly the years, and rise the expected morn! 
Oh spring to light, auspicious Babe; be born! 

* * * 

Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers; 
Prepare the way! a God, a God appears: 

A God, a God! the vocal hills reply, 

The rocks proclaim the approaching Deity. 

Lo, earth receives Him from the bending skies! 
Sink down, ye mountains, and, ye valleys, rise; 
With heads declined, ye cedars, homage pay; 

Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way; 
The Saviour comes! by ancient bards foretold! 
Hear Him, ye deaf, and all ye blind, behold! 

He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, 
And on the sightless eyeball pour the day: 

’Tis he the obstructed paths of sound shall clear, 
And bid new music charm the unfolding ear ; 
The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, 
And leap exulting like the bounding roe. 

No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear, 
From every face He wipes off every tear. 

In adamantine chains shall Death be bound, 

And Hell’s grim tyrant feel the eternal wound. 


Standard Literary Selections. 135 

As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, 

Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air; 
Explores the lost, the wandering sheep directs, 

By day o’ersees them, and by night protects, 

The tender lambs he raises in his arms, 

Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms: 
Thus shall mankind His guardian care engage, 

The promised Father of the future age. 

No more shall nation against nation rise, 

Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes, 

Nor fields with gleaming steel be covered o’er, 

The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more; 

But useless lances into scythes shall bend, 

And the broad falchion in a ploughshare end. 

* * * 

The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant 
mead, 

And boys in flow’ry bands the tiger lead. 

The steer and lion at one crib shall meet, 

And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim’s feet. 

The smiling infant in his hand shall take 
The crested basilisk and speckled snake, 

Pleased the green lustre of the scales survey, 
And with their forkv tongue shall innocently play. 

* * * 

The seas shall waste, the skies in smoke decay, 
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away; 

But fixed His word, His saving power remains; 
Thy realm forever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns. 

—Alexander Pope. 


136 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON XXXVIII 

THE SURRENDER OF GRANADA, A. D. 1492 

The sun had scarcely begun to shed his beams 
upon the summits of the snowy mountains which 
rise above Granada, when the Christian camp was in 
motion. A detachment of horse and foot, led by dis¬ 
tinguished cavaliers, and accompanied by Hernando 
de Talavera, Bishop of Avila, proceeded to take 
possession of the Alhambra and the towers. It had 
been stipulated in the capitulation, that the detach¬ 
ment sent for this purpose should not enter by the 
streets of the city; a road had therefore been opened, 
outside of the walls, leading by the Puerta de los 
Molinos, or the Gate of the Mills, to the summit of 
the Hill of Martyrs, and across the hill to a postern- 
gate of the Alhambra. 

When the detachment arrived at the summit of 
the hill, the Moorish king came forth from the gate, 
attended by a handful of cavaliers, leaving his vi¬ 
zier, Yusef Aben Comixa, to deliver up the palace. 
‘'Go, senor,” said he, to the commander of the de¬ 
tachment, “go and take possession of those for¬ 
tresses which Allah has bestowed upon your pow¬ 
erful lord in punishment of the sins of the Moors!” 
He said no more, but passed mournfully on,.along the 
same road by which the Spanish cavaliers had come; 
descending to the vega, to meet the Catholic sover¬ 
eigns. The troops entered the Alhambra, the gates 
of which were wide open, and all its splendid courts 
and halls silent and deserted. In the meantime, 
the Christian court and army poured out of the 


Standard Literary Selections. 


137 


city of Santa Fe, and advanced across the vega. 
The king and queen, with the prince and princess, 
and, the dignitaries and ladies of the court, took the 
lead, accompanied by the different orders of monks 
and friars, and surrounded by the royal guards 
splendidly arrayed. The procession moved slowly 
forward, and paused at the village of Armilla, at 
the distance of half a league from the city. 

The sovereigns waited here with impatience, 
their eyes fixed on the lofty towers of the Alhambra, 
watching for the appointed signal of possession. 
The time that had elapsed since the departure of 
the detachment seemed to them more than necessary 
for the purpose, and the anxious mind of Ferdinand 
began to entertain doubts of some commotion in 
the city. At length they saw the silver cross, the 
great standard of this crusade, elevated on the Torre 
de la Vela, or great watch-tower, and sparkling in 
the sunbeams. This was done by Hernando de 
Talavera, Bishop of Avila. Beside it was planted 
the pennon of the glorious apostle St. James; and 
a great shout of “Santiago! Santiago!” rose through¬ 
out the army. Lastly was reared the royal standard, 
by the king of arms, with the shout of “Castile! 
Castile! For King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella!” 
The words were echoed by the whole army, with 
acclamations which resounded across the vega. At 
sight of these signals of possession, the sovereigns 
fell upon their knees, giving thanks to God for this 
great triumph. The whole assembled host followed 
their example, and the choristers of the royal chapel 
broke forth into the solemn anthem of Te Deum 
laudamus! 


138 Standard Literary Selections. 

The procession now resumed its march with joy¬ 
ful alacrity, to the sound of triumphant music, un¬ 
til they came to a small mosque, near the banks of 
the Xenil, and not far from the foot of the Hill of 
Martyrs, which edifice remains to the present day, 
consecrated as the hermitage of San Sebastian. 
Here the sovereigns were met by the unfortunate 
Boabdil, accompanied by about fifty cavaliers and 
domestics. As he drew near, he would have dis¬ 
mounted, in token of homage; but Ferdinand pre¬ 
vented him. He then proffered to kiss the king’s 
hand, but this sign of vassalage was likewise de¬ 
clined ; whereupon, not to be outdone in magnanim¬ 
ity, he leaned forward, and saluted the right arm of 
Ferdinand. Queen Isabella also refused to receive 
this ceremonial of homage; and, to console him un¬ 
der his adversity, delivered to him his son, who had 
remained as hostage ever since Boabdil’s liberation 
from captivity. The Moorish monarch pressed his 
child to his bosom with tender emotion, and they 
seemed mutually endeared to each other by their 
misfortunes. 

He then delivered the keys of the city to King 
Ferdinand, with an air of mingled melancholy and 
resignation. “These keys,” said he, “are the last 
relics of the Arabian empire in Spain. Thine, O 
king, are our trophies, our kingdom, and our per¬ 
son ! such is the will of God! Receive them with the 
clemency thou hast promised, and which we look 
for at thy hands!” 

King Ferdinand restrained his exultation into 
an air of serene magnanimity. “Doubt not our prom¬ 
ises, replied he, “or that thou shalt regain from our 


Standard Literary Selections. 139 

friendship the prosperity of which the fortune of 
war has deprived thee.” 

On receiving the keys, King Ferdinand handed 
them to the queen. She, in turn, presented them to 
her son, Prince Juan, who delivered them to the 
Count de Tendilla, that brave and loyal cavalier 
being appointed alcayde of the city, and captain- 
general of the kingdom of Granada. 

Having surrendered the last symbol of power, 
the unfortunate Boabdil continued on towards the Al- 
puxarras, that he might not behold the entrance of 
the Christians into his capital. His devoted band 
of cavaliers followed him in gloomy silence; but 
heavy sighs burst from their bosoms, as the shouts 
of joy and strains of triumphant music were borne 
on the breeze from the victorious army. 

Having rejoined his family, Boabdil set forward 
with a heavy heart for his allotted residence in the 
valley of the Purchena. At two leagues distance, 
the cavalcade, winding into the skirts of the Alpu- 
xarras, ascended an eminence commanding the last 
view of Granada. As they arrived at this spot, the 
Moors paused involuntarily, to take a farewell gaze 
at their beloved city, which a few steps more would 
shut out from their sight forever. Never had it ap¬ 
peared so lovely in their eyes. The sunshine, so 
bright in that transparent climate, lighted up each 
tower and minaret, and rested gloriously upon the 
crowning battlements of the Alhambra; while the 
vega spread its enamelled bosom of verdure below, 
glistening with the silver windings of the Xenil. 
The Moorish cavaliers gazed with a silent agony of 
tenderness and grief upon that delicious abode, the 


140 Standard Literary Selections. 

scene of their loves and pleasures. While they 
yet looked, a light cloud of smoke burst forth from 
the citadel, and presently a peal of artillery, faintly 
heard, told that the city was taken possession of, and 
the throne of the Moslem kings was lost forever. 
The heart of Boabdil, softened by misfortune, and 
overcharged with grief, could no longer contain 
itself. “Allah akbar! God is great! ’ said he; but 
the words of resignation died upon his lips, and he 
burst into a flood of tears. 

—Washington Irving. 


LESSON XXXIX 
SCIENCE and religion 

I know not why anyone who possesses but ordi¬ 
nary abilities, may not hope, by persevering dili¬ 
gence, somewhat to enlarge the evidences of truth. 
There are humble departments in this as in every 
other art; there are calm, retired walks, which lead 
not beyond the precincts of domestic privacy, over 
which the timid may wander, and, without expos¬ 
ure to the public gaze, gather sweet and lowly herbs, 
—that all shall be as fragrant on the altar of God, 
as the costly perfume which Bezaleel and Oholiab 
compounded—with so much art. The painted shell 
which the child picks up on the hill-side, may be 
sometimes as good evidence of a great catastrophe, 
as the huge bones of sea monsters which the natu- 



Standard Literary Selections. 141 

ralist digs out of the limestone rock; a little medal 
may attest the destruction of an empire, as certainly 
as the obelisk or triumphal arch. “While others,” 
says St. Jerome, “contribute their gold and their 
silver to the service of the tabernacle, why should 
not I contribute my humble offerings—at least of 
hair and skin ?” 

But whosoever shall try to cultivate a wider 
field, and follow, from day to day, the constant prog¬ 
ress of every science, careful ever to note the influ¬ 
ence which it exercises on his more sacred knowl¬ 
edge, shall have therein such pure joy, and such 
growing comfort, as the disappointing eagerness 
of mere human learning may not supply. Such a 
one I know not unto whom I liken, save to one who 
unites an enthusiastic love of Nature’s charms to a 
sufficient acquaintance with her laws, and spends 
his days in a garden of the choicest bloom. And 
here he seeth one gorgeous flower, that has un¬ 
clasped all its beauty to the glorious sun; and there, 
another is just about to disclose its modester blos¬ 
som, not yet fully unfolded; and beside them, there 
is one only in the hand-stem, giving but slender 
promise of much display; and yet he waited pa¬ 
tiently, well knowing that the law is fixed whereby 
it too shall pay, in due season, its tribute to the light 
and heat that feed it. Even so, the other doth like¬ 
wise behold one science after the other, when its ap¬ 
pointed hour is come, and its ripening influ¬ 
ences have prevailed, unclose some form which shall 
add to the varied harmony of universal truth; 
which shall recompense, to the full, the genial power 


14 2 Standard Literary Selections. 


that hath given it life; and, however barren it may 
have seemed at first, produce something that may 
adorn the temple and altar of God’s worship. 

And if he carefully register his own convictions, 
and add them to the collections already formed, of 
various converging proof, he assuredly will have 
accomplished the noblest end for which man may 
live and acquire learning—his own improvement, 
and the benefit of his kind. 

When learning shall once have been consecrated 
by such high motives, it will soon be hallowed by 
purer feelings, and assume a calmer and more vir¬ 
tuous character than human knowledge can ever 
possess. An enthusiastic love of truth will be en¬ 
gendered in the soul, which will extinguish every 
meaner and more earthly feeling in its pursuit. We 
shall never look with a partisan’s eye upon the cause, 
nor estimate it by personal motives; but, following 
the advice of the excellent Schlegel, we shall “es¬ 
chew all sorts of useless contention and uncharita¬ 
ble hate, and strive to keep alive a spirit of love and 
unity.” 

But these motives will have a still stronger 
power; they will insure us success. For if once a 
pure love and unmixed admiration of Religion ani¬ 
mate our efforts, we shall find ourselves inflamed 
with a chivalrous devotion to her service, which will 
make us indefatigable and unconquerable when 
armed in her defense. Our quest may be long and 
perilous; there may come in our way enchantments 
and sorceries, giants and monsters, allurements and 
resistance; but onward we shall advance, in the con¬ 
fidence of our cause’s strength; we shall dispel 


Standard Literary Selections. 


H3 


every phantasm, and fairly meet every substantial 
foe, and the crown will infallibly be ours. In other 
words, we shall submit with patience to all the irk¬ 
someness which such detailed examination may 
cause: when any objection is brought, instead of 
contenting ourselves with vague replies, we shall at 
once examine the very department of learning, sa¬ 
cred or profane, whence it hath been drawn; we 
shall sit down calmly, and address ourselves meekly, 
to the toilsome work; we shall endeavour to unravel 
all its intricacies, and diligently to unite every knot; 
and, however hopeless your task may have appeared 
at first, the result of your exertions will be surely 
recorded in the short expressive legend, preserved 
on an ancient gem, “Religion thou has conquered!” 

—Cardinal Wiseman. 


LESSON XL 

CHARACTERISTICS OF AN EDUCATED GENTLEMAN 

It is almost a definition of a gentleman, to say 
he is one who never inflicts pain. This description 
is both refined and, as far as it goes, accurate. He 
is mainly occupied in merely removing the obstacles 
which hinder the free and unembarrassed action of 
those about him; and he concurs with their move¬ 
ments rather than takes the initiative himself. His 
benefits may be considered as parallel to what are 
called comforts or conveniences in arrangements of 
a personal nature; like an easy chair or a good fire 



144 


Standard Literary Selections. 


which do their part in dispelling cold and fatigue, 
though nature provides both means of rest and ani¬ 
mal heat without them. The true gentleman, in 
like manner, carefully avoids whatever may cause 
a jar or a jolt in the minds of those with whom he 
is cast; all clashing of opinion, or collision of feel¬ 
ing, all restraint, or suspicion, or gloom, or resent¬ 
ment ; his great concern being to make every one at 
their ease and at home. He has his eyes on all his 
company; he is tender towards the bashful, gentle 
towards the distant, and merciful towards the ab¬ 
surd ; he can recollect to whom he is speaking; he 
guards against unseasonable allusions, or topics 
which may irritate; he is seldom prominent in con¬ 
versation, and never wearisome. He makes light 
of favours while he does them, and seems to be re¬ 
ceiving when he is conferring. He never speaks of 
himself except when compelled, never defends him¬ 
self by a mere retort, he has no ears for slander or 
gossip, is scrupulous in imputing motives to those 
who interfere with him, and interprets everything 
for the best. He is never mean or little in his dis¬ 
putes, never takes unfair advantage, never mistakes 
personalities or sharp sayings for arguments, or in¬ 
sinuates evil which he dare not say out. From a 
long-sighted prudence, he observes the maxim of 
the ancient sage, that we should ever conduct our¬ 
selves towards our enemy, as if. he were one day to 
be our friend. He has .too. much good sense to be 
affronted at insults, he is too well employed to re¬ 
member injuries, and too indolent to bear malice. 
If he engages in controversy of any kind, his 
disciplined intellect preserves him from the blunder- 


Standard Literary Selections. 


145 


ing discourtesy of better, perhaps, but less educated 
minds; who, like blunt weapons, tear and hack in¬ 
stead of cutting clean, who mistake the point in ar¬ 
gument, waste their strength on trifles, misconceive 
their adversary, and leave the question more in¬ 
volved than they find it. He may be right or wrong 
in his opinion, but he is too clear-headed to be un¬ 
just; he is as simple as he is forcible, and as brief 
as he is decisive. Nowhere shall we find greater 
candour, consideration, and indulgence; he throws 
himself into the minds of his opponents, he accounts 
for their mistakes. He knows the weakness of hu¬ 
man reason as well as it's strength, its province and 
its limits. 

—Cardinal Newman. 


LESSON XLI 

ALL SAINTS' DAY 

(Part 1) 

The Gathering of the Dead 

The day is cloudy;—it should be so: 

And the clouds in flocks to the eastward go; 
For the world may not see the glory there, 
Where Christ and His Saints are met in the air. 
There is a stir among all things round, 

Like the shock of an earthquake underground, 
And there is music in the motion, 

As soft and deep as a summer ocean. 



146 Standard Literary Selections. 

All things that sleep awake to-day, 

For the Cross and the crown are won; 

The winds of spring 
Sweet songs may bring 
Through the half-unfolded leaves of May; 

But the breeze of spring 
Hath no such thing 
As the musical sounds that run 
Where the anthem note by God is given, 

And the Martyrs sing. 

And the Angels ring 
With the cymbals of highest Heaven. 

In Heaven above, and on earth beneath, 

In the holy place where dead men sleep, 

In the silent sepulchres of death, 

Where angels over the bodies keep 
Their cheerful watch till their second breath 
Into the Christian dust shall creep— 

In heights and depths and darkest caves, 

In the unlit green of the ocean waves— 

In fields where battles have been fought, 
Dungeons where murders have been wrought— 
The shock and thrill of life have run: 

The reign of the Holy is begun! 

There is labour and unquietness 
In the very sands of the wilderness, 

In the place where rivers ran, 

Where Simoom blast 
Hath fiercely past 
O’er the midnight caravan. 

From sea to sea, from shore to shore, 

Earth travails with her dead once more. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


147 


In one long endless filing crowd, 

Apostles, Martyrs, Saints, have gone, 

Where behind yon screen of cloud 
The Master is upon His throne! 

Only we are left alone!— 

Left in this waste and desert place, 

Far from our natural home; 

Left to complete our weary race, 

Until His Kingdom come. 

Alas for us that cannot be 
Among that shining company! 

But once a year with solemn hand 
The Church withdraws the veil, 

And there we see that other land, 

Far in the distance pale: 

While good church-bells are loudly ringing 
All on the earth below, 

And white-robed choirs with angels singing, 
Where stately organs blow ; 

And up and down each holy street 
Faith hears the tread of viewless feet, 

Such as in Salem walked when He 
Had gotten Himself the victory. 

So be it ever year by year, 

Until the Judge Himself be here! 

—Frederick William Faber. 


148 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON XLII 

ALL SAINTS' DAY 

(Part 2) 

The Middle Home 

The Dead—the mighty, quiet Dead! 
Each in his moist and silent bed 
Hath laid him down to rest, 

While the freed spirit slowly fled 
Unto the Patriarch’s breast. 


Perchance a while it lingered near, 

As loth to quit its earthly bier, 

Until the funeral rite was done, 

And the Church closed upon her son. 


There is a place where spirits come, 
Beneath the shrine to live, 

A mystic place, a middle home, 

Which God to them doth give. 

What mortal fancy can disclose 
The secrets of their calm repose? 

It is a quietness more deep 

Than deadest swoon or heaviest sleep, 

A rest all full of waking dreams, 

Of magic sounds, and broken gleams, 
Outside the walls of heaven; 

So near, the Souls may hear the din 
Of thousand Angel choirs within, 

And some dear prospect too may win,— 


Standard Literary Selections. 


149 


As in the light of even, 

Long absent exiles may have seen 
The home, the woods, the orchards green, 
Wherein their childish time was spent, 

Ere on their pilgrimage they went; 

And, as they look upon the show, 

The thought of early love returns 
Unto the straining eye that burns 
With tears that age forbids to flow. 

It is a rest, yet torments dire, 

Repose within the lap of fire, 

Because it is God’s will,— 

Another life of heavenly birth, 

Which men live quicker than on earth, 
Happy, resigned, and still: 

A pardoning Father’s first caress, 

A glorious penal blessedness! 

There then outside the heavenly gate 
The souls beneath the Altar wait— 

The Altar whereon Christ was laid, 

True Meat for all the living made, 

And shelter for the Dead! 

Their bodies are not yet like His, 

Their souls not strong enough for bliss, 
Or love unmixed with dread. 

They cannot brook the vision yet, 

Those radiant lights that never set; 

And so the Son of Man hath thrown 
His awful Veil o’er spirits lone. 
O’ershadowed by His Flesh they lie, 

As though behind a charmed screen, 
Hid from the piercing of the Eye 

That may not look on things unclean! 


T50 Standard Literary Selections. 

Say, who are those who softly glide 
Each pure and saintly soul beside, 

Like angels, only that they bear 
More thought and sadness in their air, 

As though some stain of earth did rest 
Its pensive weight upon their breast, 

And lodged a fearfulness within 
That could not rise from aught but sin ? 

Nor ever on their silent face 
Doth gentle mirth leave any trace, 

Save when their downcast eye doth rest 
Upon the Symbol on their breast, 

Then as their features lit the while 
With something like an earthly smile, 

As though a thought were in their heart 
Which it were rudeness to impart. 

These are the righteous works of Faith, 
Wrought in the fight with Sin and Death— 
Dear shadows of each holy thing, 

The goodly fruits and flowers that spring 
From the rich Tree of Life; 

Alms-deeds, and praise, and vigils past 
In penitential prayer and fast, 

Boldness in faith, and wrongs forgiven, 

And self-denying toils for heaven, 

And gentleness in strife. 

These follow all the souls that come 
Unto their rest and middle home; 

And by their sides forever stay 
To witness at the solemn day,— 

In fear as nigher still and nigher 
Through the thin veils of cleansing fire, 


Standard Literary Selections. 15 i 

They see the angels from above 
Descend upon their tasks of love 
The spirits to release, 

To bear them to that Vision bright, 

That throne in whose tremendous sight 
The soul shall find eternal light 
And everlasting peace. 

—Frederick William Faber. 


LESSON XLIII 
god's work in the moral order 

The wondrous works of God are spread 
throughout the whole creation: wherever we turn, 
the exhibitions of His power and the monuments of 
His wisdom are scattered before us in boundless 
profusion; in the fathomless depths of the abyss; in 
the untrodden path of the air; in the vaulted heav¬ 
ens above; in the splendour of day; in the shrouded 
glories of the night; in the meanest insect that 
creeps the earth, as well as in the most finished form 
of animal existence: from the plant that shrinks in¬ 
stinctively from human touch, up through the whole 
ascending scale of life and intellect, to the almost 
measureless mind of the archangel, there rises, in 
everlasting succession, the unceasing acknowledg¬ 
ment of His power, His wisdom, His glory. 

It is not in the visible creation alone that the 
wonders of the Lord are seen. They are marked 



152 


Standard Literary Selections. 


more impressively in the economy and government 
of the moral world; in the laws by which the spirits 
of men are directed to the final end of their being— 
in the love that originated their creation—in the 
wisdom that planned their redemption—in the mul¬ 
tiplied expedients resorted to by that wisdom, for 
the purpose of deriving general good from partial 
evil; in the establishment of a spiritual kingdom 
upon earth—in its unbroken duration—in its uni¬ 
versal extent—in its unfailing triumph over every 
opposition which the corruption of earth and the 
malice of hell can possibly offer. It is in the up¬ 
holding of this kingdom that the Lord is truly won¬ 
derful, demonstrating His own strength through 
the instrumentalities of the weak, proving His wis¬ 
dom by the lips of the unwise, revealing His own 
essential sanctity in purifying the corrupt affections 
of His creatures, bending the stubborn will, pros- 
trating the ignorant pride of the mind, enlightening, 
purifying, and exalting human nature, until every 
appetite is controlled, every lawless passion sub¬ 
dued, every defilement cleansed, every earthly par¬ 
ticle that clings to us so long, and parts with such 
reluctance, is swept away, and the mind becomes a 
glorious heaven within, bright with the presence 
and the power of the Lord, and man stands forth as 
in the day of his elder glory—upright, untroubled, 
pure and almost passionless, the hallowed image of 
that most high and holy God from whose hands we 
originally came. 

Yes, “God is wonderful in his Saints.” In these 
He has shown the power and extent of His grace. 
His spirit has gone forth, and the might of God is 


Standard Literary Selections. 


153 


seen in the countless forms of holiness with which 
His spiritual kingdom abounds. In some, the spirit 
dwells from their earliest youth, and, by an all¬ 
directing Providence, they pass through this world 
without contracting one stain of mortal guilt, and 
scarcely exhibiting a stain of human infirmity. 
Others are destined to feel, through life, the whole 
weakness and corruption of nature, and to pass 
through the fiery ordeal of every temptation that 
can subdue the mind or seduce the heart. Some 
possess what the prophet desired, “the wings of the 
dove,” and they fly to the presence of Him “whose 
delight is to be with the children of men.” To the 
eye of man they walk upon earth, but their conver¬ 
sation is in heaven, and they breathe and live before 
the throne of their God. Some are called to witness 
the truth of religion, to the very outpouring of their 
blood; and others are fated to undergo the more 
painful and protracted martyrdom of “dwelling in 
the tents of sinners,” of witnessing their contradic¬ 
tions, and bearing the sneer and the sarcasm of the 
proud, che profligate, and the worldly-minded. 
Some are called to sanctify themselves in the per¬ 
formance of the . ordinary duties of life, passing 
through this world without notice and without 
name, though great before their God; whilst others 
are destined not to live for themselves alone, “sepa¬ 
rated for the gospel of God,” made a spectacle to 
men and angels,” called to cooperate with God in 
the work of man’s salvation; fated to bear their 
own burdens, and commanded to bear the burdens 
of others; the “salt of the earth,” to save it from cor¬ 
ruption, the “lights of the world,” to illuminate its 


154 Standard Literary Selections. 

darkness; tongues of fire, kindled by the inspiring 
breath of God, and destined to reanimate, through¬ 
out the long succession of ages, the expiring em¬ 
bers of Christian faith and charity. Of these latter, 
some are chosen from “the weak of this world, to 
beat down the strong, and from the foolish, to con¬ 
found the wise,” that no flesh may glory, and no 
tongue ascribe to man what the hand of the Lord 
alone could perform. Others are selected from the 
most exalted rank of human intellect, that no ground 
of objection should be left to human pride; and that 
the loftiest understanding should be edified by the 
faith and the rational submission of minds fitted to 
investigate, and disposed to reject, if investigation 
did not lead to the most satisfactory and convincing 
results. Such minds have been selected in every 
age, and in every portion of the Church, and ex¬ 
hibited to this world, as the necessity of the Church, 
and the edification of her children, required. 

—Archdeacon O’Keefe. 


LESSON XLIV 

FILIAL love 

Filial love! the morality of instinct, the sacra¬ 
ment of nature and duty,—or rather let me say, it 
is miscalled a duty; for it flows from the heart with¬ 
out effort, and is its delight, its indulgence, its en¬ 
joyment. It is guided not by the slow dictates of 
reason; it awaits not encouragement from reflec- 



Standard Literary Selections. 155 

tion or from thought; it asks no aid of memory; it 
is an innate, but active consciousness of having been 
the object of a thousand tender solicitudes, a thou¬ 
sand waking, watchful cares, of meek anxiety and 
patient sacrifices, unremarked and unrequited by 
the object. It is a gratitude founded upon a con¬ 
viction of obligations, not remembered, but the more 
binding because not remembered; because conferred 
before the tender reason could acknowledge, or the 
infant memory record them,—a gratitude and affec¬ 
tion, which no circumstances can subdue, and which 
few can strengthen; an affection which can be in¬ 
creased only by the decay of those to whom we owe 
it, and which is then most fervent when the tremu¬ 
lous voice of age, resistless in its feebleness, inquires 
for the natural protector of its cold decline. 

If these are the general sentiments of man, what 
must be their depravity, what must be their degener¬ 
acy, who can blot out and erase from the bosom the 
virtue that is deepest rooted in the human breast, 
and twined within the cords of life itself! Surely, 
no language can fully portray the enormity of their 
guilt, or express the depth of their degradation, if 
they do thus crush this instinct of nature, and oblit¬ 
erate from their hearts this handiwork of the Al¬ 
mighty. 


— Sheridan . 


156 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON XLV 

HAPPINESS SOUGHT IN WEALTH 

Gold many hunted, sweat and bled for gold ; 

Waked all the night, and laboured all the day. 
And what was the allurement dost thou ask ? 

A dust dug from the bowels of the earth, 

Which being cast into the fire, came out 
A shining thing that fools admired, and called 
A god; and in devout and humble plight 
Before it kneeled, the greater to the less; 

And on its altar sacrificed ease, peace, 

Truth, faith, integrity; good conscience, friends, 

Love, charity, benevolence, and all 

The sweet and tender sympathies of life; 

And, to complete the horrid, murderous rite, 

And signalize their folly, ofifered up 
Their souls and an eternity of bliss, 

To gain them—what?—an hour of dreaming joy, 
A feverish hour that hasted to be done, 

And ended in the bitterness of woe. 

Most, for the luxuries it bought, the pomp, 
The praise, the glitter, fashion, and renown, 

This yellow phantom followed and adored. 

But there was one in folly further gone, 

With eye awry, incurable, and wild, 

The laughing-stock of devils and of men. 

And by his guardian angel quite given up,— 

The miser, who with dust inanimate 

Held wedded intercourse. Ill-guided wretch! 

Thou mightst have seen him at the midnight hour, 


Standard Literary Selections. 157 

When good men slept, and in light winged dreams 
Ascended up to God,—in wasteful hall, 

With vigilance and fasting worn to skin 

And bone, and wrapped in most debasing rags,— 

Thou mightst have seen him bending o’er his heaps, 

And holding strange communion with his gold; 

And as his thievish fancy seemed to hear 

The night-man’s foot approach, starting alarmed, 

And in his old decrepit, withered hand, 

That palsy shook, grasping this yellow earth 
To make it sure. Of all God made upright, 

And in their nostrils breathed a living soul, 

Most fallen, most prone, most earthy, most debased ; 
Of all that sold Eternity for Time, 

None bargained on so easy terms with Death. 
Illustrious fool! nay, most inhuman wretch! 

He sat among his bags, and, with a look 
Which hell might be ashamed of, drove the poor 
Away unalmsed, and midst abundance died, 

Sorest of evils! died of utter want. 

— Pollok. 


LESSON XLVI 


FAME 

Of all the phantoms fleeting in the midst 
Of Time, though meagre all, and ghostly thin, 
Most unsubstantial, unessential shade, 

Was earthly Fame. She was a voice alone, 

And dwelt upon the noisy tongues of men. 

She never thought, but gabbled on; 



158 Standard Literary Selections. 

Applauding most what least deserved applause: 

The motive, the result, was nought to her: 

The deed alone, though dyed in human gore, 

And steeped in widow’s tears, if it stood out 
To prominent display, she talked of much, 

And roared around it with a thousand tongues. 

As changed the wind her organ, so she changed 
Perpetually; and whom she praised to-day, 

Vexing his ear with acclamations loud, 

To-morrow blamed, and hissed him out of sight. 

Such was her nature, and her practice such. 

But, oh! her voice was sweet to mortal ears, 

And touched so pleasantly the strings of pride 
And vanity, which in the heart of man 
Were ever strung harmonious to her note, 

That many thought, to live without her song 
Was rather death than life. To live unknown, 
Unnoticed, unrenowned! to die unpraised, 
Unepitaphed! to go down to the pit, 

And moulder into dust among vile worms, 

And leave no whispering of a name on earth ! 

Such thought was cold about the heart, and chilled 
The blood. Who could endure it ? who could choose, 
Without a struggle, to be swept away 
From all remembrance, and have part no more 
With living men? Philosophy failed here, 

And self-approving Pride. Hence it became 
The aim of most, and main pursuit, to win 
A name, to leave some vestige as they passed, 

That following ages might discern they once 
Had been on earth, and acted something there. 

Many the roads they took, the plans they tried. 
The man of science to the shade retired, 


Standard Literary Selections. 


159 


And laid his head upon his hand, in mood 
Of awful thoughtfulness, and dived, and dived 
Again, deeper and deeper still, to sound 
The cause remote; resolved, before he died, 

To make some grand discovery, by which 
He should be known to all posterity. 

And in the silent vigils of the night, 

When uninspired men reposed, the bard, 

Ghastly of countenance, and from his eye 
Oft streaming wild unearthly fire, sat up, 

And sent imagination forth, and searched 
The far and near, heaven, earth, and gloomy hell. 
For fiction new, for thought, unthought before; 
And when some curious, rare idea peered 
Upon his mind, he dipped his hasty pen, 

And by the glimmering lamp, or moonlight beam, 
That through his lattice peeped, wrote fondly down 
What seemed in truth imperishable song. 

And sometimes too, the reverend divine, 

In meditation deep of holy things, 

And vanities of Time, heard Fame's sweet voice 
Approach his ear, and hung another flower, 

Of earthly sort, about the sacred truth; 

And ventured whiles to mix the bitter text, 

With relish suited to the sinner’s taste 

Many the roads they took, the plans they tried. 
And awful oft the wickedness they wrought. 

To be observed, some scrambled up to thrones, 

And sat in vestures dripping wet with gore. 

The warrior dipped his sword in blood, and wrote 
His name on lands and cities desolate. 

The rich bought fields, and houses built, and raised 
The monumental piles up to the clouds, 


160 Standard Literary Selections. 

And called them by their names ; and, strange to tell! 
Rather than be unknown, and pass away 
Obscurely to the grave, some, small soul, 

That else had perished unobserved, acquired 
Considerable renown by oaths profane; 

By jesting boldly with all sacred^ things; 

And uttering fearlessly what’er occurred; 

Wild, blasphemous, perditionable thoughts, 

That Satan in them moved; by wiser men 
Suppressed, and quickly banished from the mind. 

Many the roads they took, the plans they tried. 
But all in vain. Who grasped at earthly fame, 
Grasped wind; nay worse, a serpent grasped, that 
through 

His hands slid smoothly, and was gone; but left 
A sting behind which wrought him endless pain : 

For oft her voice was old Abaddon’s lure, 

By which he charmed the foolish souls to death. 

—Pollok. 


LESSON XLVII 

BOSSUET ON HENRJETTA OF ENGLAND 

Alas ! that it should fall to my lot to render this 
funeral duty to the most high and most potent 
princess, Henrietta Anne, of England, Duchess of 
Orleans. Alas! that she, whom I had seen so at¬ 
tentive, while I rendered the same duty to the 
queen, her mother, was to be, so soon after, the 
subject of a similar discourse, and that my sad 



Standard Literary Selections. 161 

voice should be reserved for this sorrowful ministry. 
O vanity! O nothingness! O mortals, ignorant of 
their destinies! Would she have believed it six 
months since? And you, my hearers, would you 
have thought, while she wept so many bitter tears 
in this place, that she was so soon to re-assemble 
you, to lament over herself? O Princess, worthy 
object of the admiration of two great kingdoms, was 
it not enough that England mourned your absence, 
without being yet reduced to mourn your death? 
And France, that saw you again with so much joy, 
environed with a new renown, had she now no other 
pomps, no other triumphs for you, on your return 
from that memorable voyage, whence you had 
brought back so much glory and hopes so fair? 
“Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity.” These are 
the only words suited to the occasion; the only theme 
which, in so strange an occurrence, a grief so just 
and sensible permits me to use. Nor have I 
searched the sacred volumes to find in them a text 
which I could apply to this princess. I have taken 
without study or selection the first words which 
Ecclesiastes presents to me, in which, although 
vanity has been so often named, it still appears to 
me, not too often for my design. I wish, in one 
single misfortune, to deplore all the calamities of 
the human race; and in a single death, to show the 
frailty and the nothingness of all human grandeur. 

This text, which suits all the conditions and 
events of life, becomes by a special reason, suitable 
to my melancholy subject; for never have the vani¬ 
ties of the earth been so clearly exposed, nor so 
mightily confounded. No; after what we have just 


162 Standard Literary Selections. 

seen, health is but a name, life but a dream, glory 
but a phantom, accomplishments and pleasures, but 
dangerous amusements; all is vain to us, except the 
acknowledgement which we make of our vanities 
before God, and the conviction which makes us sin¬ 
cerely despise all that we are. 

But, do I speak the truth? Is man, whom God 
has made to his image, only a shade? Is that, 
which Jesus Christ has come from heaven to seek 
on earth; that, which He has thought it no degrada¬ 
tion to purchase with all his blood, a mere nothing? 
Let us recognize our error. This sad spectacle of 
human vanities has, doubtless, imposed upon us, 
and the sudden frustration of the public hope, which 
the death of this princess has caused, has carried 
us too far. Man must not be permitted altogether 
to despise himself; lest, believing with the impious, 
that life is but a game directed only by chance, he 
follows, without rule or guidance, the will of his 
blind desires. Therefore it is that Ecclesiastes, 
after having commenced his divine work by the 
words which I have just cited, after having filled 
its pages with the contempt of human things, wishes 
at last to show to man something more solid, and 
concludes his whole discourse by these words, “Fear 
God and keep His commandments; for this is all 
man; and all things that are done, God will bring 
into judgment for every error, whether it be good 
or evil.” Thus, all is vain in man, if we regard 
what he gives to the world; but, on the contrary, 
all is important, if we consider what he owes to 
God. Once more, all is vain in man, if we regard 
the course of his mortal life; but all is precious, all 


Standard Literary Selections. 163 

is important, if we contemplate the term at which 
it ends, and the account which he must render of it. 
Let us meditate, then, to-day, in spite of this altar 
and of this tomb, the first and the last words of Ec¬ 
clesiastes ; the first, which show the nothingness of 
man; the last, which establish his greatness. Let 
this tomb convince us of our nothingness, provided 
that this altar, on which a Victim of so great price 
is daily offered for us, at the same time instruct us 
in our immortal dignity. 

—Boss net. 


LESSON XLVIII 

MELROSE ABBEY 

If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 

Go, visit it by the pale moonlight; 

For the gay beams of lightsome day 
Gild but to flout the ruins gray. 

When the broken arches are black in night, 

And each shafted oriel glimmers white; 

When the cold light’s uncertain shower 
Streams on the ruin’d central tower; 

When buttress and buttress, alternately, 

Seem framed of ebon and ivory; 

When silver edges the imagery, 

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die, 
When distant Tweed is heard to rave, 

And the owlet to hoot o’er the dead man’s grave, 



164 Standard Literary Selections. 

Then go—but go alone the while— 

Then view St. David’s ruin’d pile; 

And, home returning, soothly swear, 

Was never scene so sad and fair! 

* * * 

Again on the knight look’d the churchman old, 
And again he sighed heavily; 

For he had himself been a warrior bold, 

And fought in Spain and Italy. 

And he thought on the days that were long since by, 
When his limbs were strong, and his courage was 
high:— 

Now, slow and faint, he led the way, 

Where, cloister’d round, the garden lay; 

The pillar’d arches were over their head, 

And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. 

Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 

Glisten’d with the dew of night; 

Nor herb nor floweret glistened there 
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 

The monk gazed long on the lovely moon, 

Then into the night he looked forth; 

And red and bright the streamers light 
Were dancing in the glowing north. 

So had he seen, in fair Castile, 

The youth in glittering squadrons start, 

Sudden the flying jennet wheel, 

And hurl the unexpected dart. 

He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright. 
That spirits were riding the northern light. 


Standard Literary Selections. 165 

By a steel-clench’d postern-door 
They enter’d now the chancel tall; 

The darken’d roof rose high aloof 
On pillars lofty and light and small. 

The keystone, that lock’d each ribbed aisle, 

Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille; 

The corbels were carved grotesque and grim; 

And the pillars, which cluster’d shafts so trim, 
With base and with capital flourish’d around, 
Seem’d bundles of lances which garlands had bound. 

Full many a scutcheon and banner riven 
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, 

Around the screened altar’s pale; 

And there the dying lamps did burn, 

Before thy low and lonely urn, 

O gallant Chief of Otterburne! 

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale! 

O fading honours of the dead! 

O high ambition, lowly laid! 

The moon on the east oriel shone 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 

By foliaged tracery combined; 

Thou wouldst have thought some fairy’s hand 
’Twixt poplars straight and osier wand, 

In many a freakish knot, had twined; 

Then framed a spell, when the work was done, 

And changed the willow-wreaths to stone. 

The silver light, so pale and faint, 

Show’d many a prophet and many a saint, 

Whose image on the glass was dyed; 


166 Standard Literary Selections, 

Full in the midst, his cross of red, 

Triumphant Michael brandished, 

And trampled the apostate’s pride. 

The moonbeam kiss’d the holy pane, 

And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. 

—Sir Walter Scott. 


LESSON XLIX 

ITALY IN THE MIDDLE AGES 

During the gloomy and disastrous centuries 
which followed the downfall of the Roman Empire, 
Italy had preserved, in a far greater extent than any 
other part of Western Europe, the traces of ancient 
civilization. The night which descended upon her 
was the night of an Arctic summer—the dawn be¬ 
gan to reappear before the last reflection of the 
preceding sunset had faded from the horizon, It 
was in the time of the French Merovingians, and 
of the Saxon Heptarchy, that ignorance and ferocity 
seem to have done their worst. Yet even then the 
Neapolitan provinces, recognizing the authority of 
the Eastern Empire, preserved something of 
Eastern knowledge and refinement. Rome, pro¬ 
tected by the sacred character of its pontiffs, en¬ 
joyed at least comparative security and repose. Even 
in those regions where the sanguinary Lombards 
had fixed their monarchy, there was incomparably 
more of wealth, of information, of physical com- 



Standard Literary Selections. 


167 


fort, and of social order, than could be found in 
Gaul, Britain, or Germany. 

- That which most distinguished Italy from the 
neighbouring countries was the importance which 
the population of the towns, from a very early 
period, began to acquire. Some cities, founded in 
wild and remote situations, by fugitives who had 
escaped from the rage of the barbarians (such were 
Venice and Genoa), preserved their freedom by 
their obscurity till they became able to preserve it 
by their power. Others seem to have retained, 
under all the changing dynasties of invaders, under 
Odoacer and Theodoric, Narses and Albion, the 
municipal institution which had been conferred on 
them by the liberal policy of the great Republic. 
In provinces in which the central government was 
too feeble either to protect or to oppress, these in¬ 
stitutions first acquired stability and vigor. The 
citizens, defended by their walls, and governed by 
their own magistrates and their own by-laws, en¬ 
joyed a considerable share of republican indepen¬ 
dence. Thus a strong democratic spirit was called 
into action. The generous policy of Otho encour¬ 
aged it. In the twelfth century it attained its full 
vigour, and after a long and doubtful conflict, it 
triumphed over the abilities and courage of the 
Swabian princes. 

Liberty revisited Italy; and with liberty came 
commerce and empire, science and taste, all the com¬ 
forts and all the ornaments of life. The Crusades 
brought the rising commonwealth of the Adriatic 
and Tyrrhene Seas a large increase of wealth, do¬ 
minion and knowledge. Their moral and their geo- 


168 


Standard Literary Selections. 


graphical position enabled them to profit alike by 
the barbarism of the West and the civilization 
of the East. Their ships covered every sea. 
Their factories rose on every shore. Their 
money-changers sat their tables in every city. 
Manufactures flourished. Banks were estab¬ 
lished. The operations of the commercial ma¬ 
chine were facilitated by many useful and beautiful 
inventions. We doubt whether any country of Eu¬ 
rope has at the present time reached so high a point 
of wealth and civilization as some parts of Italy had 
attained four hundred years ago. Historians rarely 
descend to these details from which alone the real 
state of a community can be collected. Hence pos¬ 
terity is too often deceived by the vague hyperboles 
of poets and rhetoricians, who mistake the splen¬ 
dours of a court for the happiness of a people. 
Fortunately John Villani has given us an ample and 
precise account of the state of Florence in the earlier 
part of the fourteenth century. The revenue of the 
republic amounted to three hundred thousand florins 
a sum which, allowing for the depreciation of the 
precious metals, was at'least equivalent to six hun¬ 
dred thousand pounds sterling; a larger sum than 
England and Ireland, two centuries ago, yielded an¬ 
nually to Elizabeth—a larger sum than, according to 
any computation which we have seen, the Grand 
Duke of Tuscany now derives from a territory of 
much greater extent. The manufacture of wool alone 
employed two hundred factories and thirty thousand 
workmen. The cloth annually produced sold, at 
an average, for twelve hundred thousand florins; a 
sum fairly equal in exchangeable value, to two mil- 


Standard Literary Selections. 169 

m 

lions and a half of our money. Four hundred thou¬ 
sands florins were annually coined. Eighty banks 
conducted the commercial operations, not of Flor¬ 
ence only, but of all Europe. The transactions of 
these establishments were sometimes of a magni¬ 
tude which may surprise even the contemporaries 
of the Barings and the Rothschilds. Two houses 
advanced to Edward the Third of England upwards 
of three hundred thousand marks, at a time when 
the mark contained more silver than fifty shillings 
of the present day, and when the value of silver 
was more than quadruple of what it now is. The 
progress of elegant literature and of the fine, arts 
was proportioned to that of the public prosperity. 
Under the despotic successors of Augustus all the 
fields of the intellect had been turned into arid 
wastes, still marked out by formal boundaries, still 
retaining the traces of old civilization, but yielding 
neither flowers nor fruit. The deluge of barbarism 
came. It swept away all the landmarks. It oblit¬ 
erated all the signs of former tillage. But it fertil¬ 
ized while it devastated. When it receded, the wil¬ 
derness was as the garden of God, rejoicing on every 
side, laughing, clapping its hands, pouring forth in 
spontaneous abundance everything brilliant, or fra¬ 
grant, or nourishing. A new language, character¬ 
ized by simple sweetness and simple energy, had 
attained its perfection. No tongue ever furnished 
more gorgeous and vivid tints of poetry; nor was 
it long before a poet appeared who knew how to 
employ them. Early in the fourteenth century came 
forth the “Divine Comedy,” beyond comparison the 
greatest work of imagination which had appeared 


I/O 


Standard Literary Selections, 


since the poems of Homer. The following genera¬ 
tion produced, indeed, no second Dante; but it was 
eminently distinguished by general intellectual ac¬ 
tivity. 

From this time the admiration of learning and 
genius became almost an idolatry among the people 
of Italy. Kings and republics, cardinals and doges, 
vied with each other in honouring and flattering 
Petrarch. Embassies from rival states solicited 
the honour of his instructions. His coronation agi¬ 
tated the Court of Naples and the people of Rome 
as much as the most important political transaction 
could have done. To collect books and antiques, to 
found professorships, to patronize men of learning, 
became almost universal fashions among the great. 
The spirit of literary research allied itself to that of 
commercial enterprise. Every place to which the 
merchant princes of Florence extended their gigan¬ 
tic traffic, from the bazaars of the Tigris to the mon¬ 
asteries of the Clyde, was ransacked for medals and 
manuscripts. Architecture, painting, and sculpture 
were munificently encouraged. Indeed it would be 
difficult to name an Italian of eminence during the 
period of which we speak, who, whatever may have 
been his general character, did not at least affect a 
love of letters and of the arts. Knowledge and pub¬ 
lic prosperity continued to advance together. Both 
attained their meridian in the age of Lorenzo the 
Magnificent. 

The Roman Pontiffs exhibited in their own per¬ 
sons all the austerity of the early anchorites of Syria. 
Paul IV. brought to the Papal throne the same fer¬ 
vent zeal which had carried him into the Theatine 


Standard Literary Selections. 


171 


Convent. Pius V., under his gorgeous vestments, 
wore day and night the hair shirt of a simple friar; 
walked barefoot in the streets at the head of proces¬ 
sions ; found, even in the midst of his most pressing 
avocations, time for private prayer; often regretted 
that the public duties of his station were unfavour¬ 
able to growth in holiness, and edified his flock by 
innumerable instances of humility, charity, and for¬ 
giveness of personal injuries; while, at the same 
time, he upheld the authority of his See, and the un¬ 
adulterated doctrines of his Church with all the 
vehemence of Hildebrand. Gregory XIII. exerted 
himself to imitate Pius in the severe virtues of his 
sacred profession. 

It is delightful to turn to the opulent and enlight¬ 
ened states of Italy—to the vast and magnificent 
cities, the ports, the arsenals, the villas, the mu¬ 
seums, the libraries, the marts filled with every arti¬ 
cle of comfort and luxury, the manufactories swarm¬ 
ing with artisans, the Appennines covered with 
rich cultivation up to their very summits; the Po 
wafting the harvests of Lombardy to the granaries 
of Venice, and carrying back the silks of Bengal and 
the furs of Siberia to the palaces of Milan. With 
peculiar pleasure, every cultivated mind must re¬ 
pose on the fair, the happy, the glorious Florence, 
on the halls which rung with the mirth of Pulci, the 
cell where twinkled the midnight lamp of Politian, 
the statues on which the young eye of Michael An¬ 
gelo glared with the frenzy of a kindred inspiration. 

— Macaulay. 


\J2 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON L 

CHARACTER OF WILLIAM PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM 

The secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy 
had not reached him. Original and unaccommodat¬ 
ing, the features of his character had the hardihood 
of antiquity; his august mind overawed majesty; 
and one of his sovereigns thought royalty so im¬ 
paired in his presence, that he conspired to remove 
him, in order to be relieved of his superiority. No 
state chicanery, no narrow systems of vicious poli¬ 
tics, no idle contest for ministerial victories, sank 
him to the vulgar level of the great; but, overbear¬ 
ing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was 
England. Without dividing, he destroyed party; 
without corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. 
France sank beneath him; with one hand he smote 
the house of Bourbon, and wielded in the other 
hand the democracy of England. The sight of his 
mind was infinite, and his schemes were to affect, 
not England, not the present age only, but Europe 
and posterity. Wonderful were the means by which 
these schemes were accomplished, always season¬ 
able, always adequate, the suggestions of an under¬ 
standing animated by ardour and enlightened by 
foresight. 

The ordinary feelings which make life amiable 
and indolent, those sensations which soften, and al¬ 
lure, and vulgarize, were unknown to him; no do¬ 
mestic difficulties, no domestic weaknesses reached 
him; but, aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, 


Standard Literary Selections. 


173 


and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasion¬ 
ally into our system to counsel and decide. 

A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, 
so authoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the 
Treasury trembled at the name of Pitt through all 
her classes of venality. Corruption imagined, in¬ 
deed, that she had found defects in this statesman, 
and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, 
and much of the ruin of his victories; but the history 
of his country, and the calamities of the enemy, an¬ 
swered and refuted her. 

Nor were his political abilities his only talents; 
his eloquence was an era in the senate; peculiar and 
spontaneous, familiarly expressing gigantic senti¬ 
ments and instinctive wisdom—not like the tor¬ 
rents of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration 
of Tully, it resembled sometimes the thunder, and 
sometimes the music of the spheres. Like Murray, 
he did not conduct the understanding through the 
painful subtlety of argumentation; nor was he, like 
Townsend, forever on the rack of exertion; but 
rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the 
point by the flashings of his mind, which, like those 
of his eye, were felt, but could not be followed. 

Yet he was not always correct nor polished; on 
the contrary, he was sometimes ungrammatical, neg¬ 
ligent, and unenforcing ; for he concealed his art, 
and was superior to the knack of oratory. Upon 
many occasions he abated the vigour of his elo¬ 
quence ; but even then, like the spinning of a cannon 
ball, he was still alive with fatal, unapproachable 
activity. 

Upon the whole, there was in this man some- 


174 Standard Literary Selections. 

thing that could create, subvert, or reform; an un¬ 
derstanding, a spirit, and an eloquence to summon 
mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery 
asunder, and to rule the wildness of free minds with 
unbounded authority; something that could estab¬ 
lish or overwhelm empire, and strike a blow in the 
world that should resound through its history. 

— Grattan. 


LESSON LI 

HOPE 

Unfading hope! when life’s last embers burn, 
When soul to soul and dust to dust return! 

Heaven to thy charge resigns the awful hour; 

Oh, then thy kingdom comes, immortal Power! 
What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly 
The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye; 
Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
The morning dream of life’s eternal day, 

Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin, 

And all the phcenix spirit burns within! 

Oh! deep enchanting prelude to repose, 

The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 

Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, 

It is a dread and awful thing to die! 

Mysterious worlds, untravelled by the sun, 

Where Time’s far wandering tide has never run, 
From your unfathomed shades, and viewless 
spheres, 

A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


*75 


Tis Heaven’s commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
Like Sinai’s thunder, pealing from the cloud! 

While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, 

The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; 

And like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
The roaring waves, and called upon his God, 

With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 

And shrieks and hovers o’er the dark abyss! 

Daughter of Faith! awake, arise, illume 
The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb; 

Melt, and dispel, ye spectre-doubts, that roll 
Cimmerian darkness o’er the parting soul! 

Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of dismay, 

Chased on his night-steed by the star of day! 

The strife is o’er,—the pangs of Nature close, 

And life’s last rapture triumphs o’er her woes. 

Hark! as the spirit eyes with eagle gaze, 

The noon of Heaven unclouded by a blaze, 

On heavenly winds that waft her to the sky, 

Float the sweet tones of star-born melody; 

Wild as that hallowed anthem sent to hail 
Bethlehem’s shepherds in the lonely vale, 

When Jordan hushed his waves, and midnight 
. . . still 

Watched on the holy towers of Zion’s hill ! 


.*.•. * *. . .* * * * * 

Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime 
Pealed their first notes to sound the march of 
Time, 

Thy joyous youth began—but not to fade. 

When all the sister planets have decayed, 



176 Standard Literary Selections. 

iWhen wrapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 

And Heaven’s last thunder shakes the world be¬ 
low ; 

Thou, undismayed, shalt o’er the ruins smile, 

And light thy torch at Nature’s funeral pile! 

—Thomas Campbell. 


LESSON LII 

FORGIVENESS 

It is not by mere submission and constrained 
obedience that the Almighty requires us to keep His 
command of forgiving our enemies; He would in¬ 
fluence us to pardon the offences of our fellow- 
creatures by motives of gratitude, and our God in¬ 
terests Himself in their behalf as our benefactor 
and father, rather than as our lawgiver and sov¬ 
ereign. Had He enjoined us to love and forgive 
our enemies for their own sake, the command might 
appear harsh and rigorous; for when we consider 
the character of an enemy abstractedly, we find 
nothing that is not offensive, that does not tend to 
irritate our minds and fill us with rancour. How, 
then, does God act? He presents Himself before 
us, and withdrawing our eyes from a painful object, 
commands us to fix them on Himself. He does not 
require us to pardon for the sake of the offender, 
but for His own sake. He does not say to you, 
“Forgive your enemies because they deserve your 
forgiveness”; but He says, “Forgive them because 
I deserve your compliance with my will.” It is not 


Standard Literary Selections. 


i/7 


His precept, that you should consider what is owing 
to your enemies, but rather what is due to Himself, 
and what He has done for them. Thus the chil¬ 
dren of Jacob moved the heart of Joseph, their 
brother, whom they had basely sold; thus they ob¬ 
tained his pardon of a crime almost unpardonable, 
and which was prompted by their envy. “Thy 
father did command before he died, saying: ‘So 
shall ye say unto Joseph, forgive, I pray thee now, 
the trespass of thy brethren, and their sin; for they 
did unto thee evil.’ ” At the remembrance of Jacob, 
of that beloved, that tender, that affectionate father, 
Joseph felt his bowels yearn; his tears flowed; and 
instead of reproaching his sanguinary brethren with 
their inhumanity, or uttering an angry word, he 
endeavoured to console them; nay, he became their 
apologist. “Fear not; ye thought evil against me; 
but God meant it unto good.” He even promised 
them and their families his protection and support: 
“I will nourish you and your little ones.” 

Christians! it is not in the name of an earthly 
father, nor of a man like ourselves; it is in the name 
of your heavenly Father, in the name of your Creator 
and Redeemer, that I address you. How often, 
when meditating on his goodness, have you, like 
David, with renewed zeal and piety, exclaimed, 
“What shall I render unto the Lore! for all His bene¬ 
fits towards me?” How many times have you ar¬ 
dently wished for an opportunity of giving infallible 
marks of your love? That opportunity is afforded 
you, as soon as you pardon offences for the sake of 
God. To a mind that retains any susceptibility of 
religious impressions, I can imagine nothing more 


178 Standard Literary Selections. 

influential nor more consolatory than this argument. 
The greatest consolation I can possess on earth is 
to believe, with all the certainty attainable in this 
life, that I love God; that I love Him with a gen¬ 
uine, not a seeming and doubtful love; for as far as 
I am conscious of loving God, so far am I convinced 
that I possess His love, and am the object of His 
grace. Of all the evidences which I can desire on 
this subject, not one is less equivocal than the for¬ 
giveness of an enemy, because nothing but the love 
of God, the most entire love, can induce me to grant 
that forgiveness. Nature will not furnish me with 
motives of a virtue which it directly opposes, nor 
will the world produce in me that disposition which 
is repugnant to all its maxims. How animating, 
how delightful, is that consciousness which enables 
us to say, I know that I love God, that I love Him 
with sincerity; I perform for the sake of God, that 
which I can do for His sake alone; therefore I am 
convinced that my motive is pure. With what joy 
is such a reflection accompanied! 

But here lies the evil: without considering God 
in our fellow-creature, we regard our fellow-crea¬ 
ture alone; hence those tedious and vain declama¬ 
tions on the unworthy treatment we have received, 
on the audacity of one, on the perfidy of another, on 
numberless circumstances, which we frequently mis¬ 
represent, exaggerate, and portray in the darkest 
colours. Allowing, however, my brethren, that your 
opinions and representations are just, can you not 
comprehend that this will by no means weaken our 
argument ? When we exhort you to forgive, we do 
not profess to exculpate the transgressor; for if he 


Standard Literary Selections. 179 

were innocent, you would have no occasion to par¬ 
don him. What, then, do we require? That you 
should rise above the creature; that you should give 
to God what you would refuse to man; that you 
should know that God will consider Himself hon¬ 
oured and glorified by the forgiveness of your en¬ 
emy. The moment this important, this fundamental 
truth is impressed on your minds, what effort will 
appear too arduous—what power too great to im¬ 
pede your progress? 

—Pere Bourdaloue. 


LESSON LIII 

MICHAEL ANGELO 

The gardens of Lorenzo de’ Medici are frequent¬ 
ly celebrated by the historian of the painters, as the 
nursery of men of genius, but if they had produced 
no other artist than Michael Angelo, they would 
sufficiently have answered the purposes of their 
founder. It was here that this great man began to 
imbibe that spirit, which was destined to effect a 
reformation in the arts, and which he could perhaps 
have derived from no other source. 

Of a noble but reduced family, he had been 
placed by his father, when young, under the tuition 
of the painter Ghirlandajo, from whom Lorenzo, 
desirous of promoting his new establishment, re¬ 
quested that he would permit two of his pupils to 
pursue their studies in his gardens, at the same time 



180 Standard Literary Selections. 

expressing his hopes that they would there obtain 
such instruction, as would not only reflect honour 
on . the institution, but also on themselves and cn 
their country. The students who had the good for¬ 
tune to be thus selected were Michael Angelo and 
Francesco Granacci. 

On the first visit of Michael Angelo, he found in 
the gardens his future adversary, who, under the 
direction of Bertoldo, was modelling figures in clay. 
Michael Angelo applied himself to the same occu¬ 
pation, and his work soon afterwards attracted the 
attention of Lorenzo, who, from these early speci¬ 
mens, formed great expectation of his talents. 

Encouraged by such approbation, he began to 
cut in marble the head of a faun, after an antique 
sculpture, which, though unaccustomed to the chisel, 
he executed with such skill as to astonish Lorenzo; 
who, observing that he had made some intentional 
deviations from the original, and that in particular 
he had represented the lips smoother, and had 
shown the tongue and teeth, remarked to him, with 
his accustomed jocularity, that he should have re¬ 
membered that old men seldom exhibit a complete 
range of teeth. 

The docile artist, who paid no less respect to the 
judgment than to the rank of Lorenzo, was no 
sooner left to himself, than he struck out one of the 
teeth, giving to the part the appearance of its having 
been lost by age. On his next visit, Lorenzo was 
equally delighted with the disposition and the ge¬ 
nius of his young pupil, and sending for his father, 
not only took the son under his particular protec¬ 
tion, but made such a provision for the old man, as 


Standard Literary Selections. 181 

his age and the circumstances of his numerous 
family required. 

From this time till the death of Lorenzo, 
which included an interval of four years, Michael 
Angelo constantly resided in the palace of the Med¬ 
ici, and sat at the table of Lorenzo, among his most 
honoured guests, where by a commendable regula¬ 
tion, the troublesome distinctions of rank were abol¬ 
ished, and every person took his place in the order 
of his arrival. Hence the young artist found him¬ 
self at once associated, on terms of equality, with 
all that was illustrious and learned in Florence, and 
formed these connections and friendships which, if 
they do not create, are at least necessary to promote 
and reward superior talents. 

His leisure hours were passed in contemplating 
the intaglios, gems and medals, of which Lorenzo 
had collected an astonishing number, whence he 
imbibed that taste for antiquarian researches, which 
was of essential service to him, in his more imme¬ 
diate studies, and which he retained to the close of 
his life. 

The history of Michael Angelo forms that of all 
the arts which he professed. In him sculpture, paint¬ 
ing, and architecture, seem to have been personified. 
Born with talents superior to his predecessors, 
he had also a better fate. Ghiberti, Donatello, 
Verocchio, were all men of genius, but they lived 
during the gentile state of the art. The light had 
now arisen, and his young and ardent mind, conver¬ 
sant with the finest of antiquity, imbibed, as its gen¬ 
uine source, a relish for their excellence. 

With the specimens of ancient art, the deposi- 


18 2 


Standard Literary Selections. 


tories of ancient learning were unlocked to him, and 
of these also he made no inconsiderable use. As a 
poet he is entitled to rank high amongst his coun¬ 
trymen; and the triple wreaths of painting, sculp¬ 
ture, and architecture, with which his disciples dec¬ 
orated his tomb, might, without exaggeration, have 
been interwoven with a fourth. 

But the chief merit of this great man is not to 
be sought for in the remains of his pencil, nor even 
in his sculptures, but in the general improvement 
of the public taste which followed his astonishing 
productions. If his labours had perished with him¬ 
self, the change which they effected in the opinions 
and the works of his contemporaries would still 
have entitled him to the first honours of the art. 

Those who, from ignorance or from envy, have 
endeavoured to depreciate his productions, have rep¬ 
resented them as exceeding in their forms and atti¬ 
tudes the limits and the possibilities of nature—as a 
race of beings, the mere creatures of his own imag¬ 
ination; but such critics would do well to consider 
whether the great reform to which we have alluded 
could have been effected by the most accurate repre¬ 
sentations of common life, and whether anything 
short of that excellence which only he knew how to 
embody, could have accomplished so important a 
purpose. 

The genius of Michael Angelo was a lever which 
was to operate on an immense and heterogeneous 
mass, the salt intended to give a relish to insipidity 
itself; it was therefore active, penetrating, ener¬ 
getic, so as not only effectually to resist the con- 


Standard Literary Selections. 183 

tagious effects of a depraved taste, but to commun¬ 
icate a portion of its spirit to all around. 

— Roscoe. 


LESSON LIV 

PART 1 -STAGE ORATORY 


Hamlet: 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced 
it to you, trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth 
it, as many of your players do, I had as lief the town- 
crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too 
much with your hand, thus; but use all gently: for 
in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say) 
whirlwind of passion, you must acquire and be¬ 
get a temperance that may give it smoothness. 
O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robus¬ 
tious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, 
to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; 
who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but 
inexplicable dumb shews and noise: I would have 
such a fellow whipped for o’erdoing Termagant; 
it out-herods Herod. Pray you, avoid it. 

* * * 

Be not too tame neither, but let your own dis¬ 
cretion be your tutor: suit the action to the word, 
the word to the action, with this special obser¬ 
vance, that you o’erstep not the modesty of nature; 
for anything so overdone is from the purpose of 



184 Standard Literary Selections. 

playing, whose end, both at the first, and now, was 
and is, to hold, as ’twere, the mirror up to nature; 
to shew virtue her own feature, scorn her own 
image, and the very age and body of the time his 
form and pressure. Now, this overdone, or come 
tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, cannot 
but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the 
which one must, in your allowance,o’erweigh a whole 
theatre of others. O, there be players that I have 
seen play—and heard others praise, and that highly 
—not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the 
accent of Christians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, 
or Turk, have so strutted, and bellowed, that I have 
thought some of Nature’s journeymen had made 
men, and not made them well, they imitated 
humanity so abominably. 

— Shakespeare. 

PART II—HAMLET’S SOLILOQUY 

To be, or not to be; that is the question:— 
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer 
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune; 

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, 

And by opposing end them? To die:—to sleep,— 
No more: and, by a sleep, to say we end 
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to,—’tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wished. To die:—to sleep,— 

To sleep!—perchance to dream:—ay, there’s the 
rub; 

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 

Must give us pause. There’s the respect 


Standard Literary Selections. 185 

That makes calamity of so long life: 

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time. 
The oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely. 
The pangs of despised love, the law’s delay, 

The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 

When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? Who’d these fardels bear, 

To grunt and sweat under a weary life, 

But that the dread of something after death,— 

The undiscovered country from whose bourn 
No traveller returns,—puzzles the will, 

And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

Than fly to others that we know not of? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all: 

And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sickbed o’er with the pale cast of thought; 

And enterprises of great pith and moment. 

With this regard their currents turn awry 
And lose the name of action. 

— Shakespeare . 


LESSON LV 

LOUIS XVI. AND MARIE ANTOINETTE 

Although the work of our new light and knowl¬ 
edge did not go to the length that, in all probability, 
it was intended it should be carried; yet I must think 
that such treatment of any human creatures must 
be shocking to any but those who are made for ac- 



186 


Standard Literary Selections. 


complishing revolutions. But I cannot stop here. 
Influenced by the inborn feeling of my nature, and 
not being illumined by a single ray of this new- 
sprung modern light. I confess to you, sir, that the 
exalted rank of the persons suffering, and particu¬ 
larly the sex, the beauty, and amiable qualities of 
the descendant of so many kings and emperors, 
with the tender age of royal infants, insensible only 
through infancy and innocence of the cruel out¬ 
rages to which their parents were exposed, instead 
of being a subject of exultation, adds not a little 
to my sensibility on that most melancholy occasion. 

I hear that the august person, who was the 
principal object of our preacher’s triumph, though 
he supported himself, felt much on that shameful 
occasion. As a man, it became him to feel for his 
wife and children, and the faithful guards of his 
person, that were massacred in cold blood about 
him; as a prince, it became him to feel for the 
strange and frightful transformation of his civilized 
subjects; and to be more grieved for them than 
solicitous for himself. It derogates little from his 
fortitude while it adds infinitely to the honour of 
his humanity. I am very sorry to say it, very sorry, 
indeed, that such personages are in a situation in 
which it is not unbecoming to praise the virtues of 
the great. 

I hear, and I rejoice to hear, that the great lady, 
the other object of the triumph, has borne that day 
(one is interested that beings made for suffering 
should suffer well), and that she bears all the suc¬ 
ceeding days, that she bears the imprisonment of 
her husband and her own captivity, and the exile 


Standard Literary Selections. 187 

of her friends, and the insulting adulation of ad¬ 
dresses, and the whole weight of her accumulated 
wrongs, with a serene patience, in a manner suited 
to her rank and race, and becoming the offspring 
of a sovereign distinguished for her piety and her 
courage; that like her she has loftv sentiments; that 
she feels with the dignity of a Roman matron; that 
in the last extremity she will save herself from the 
last disgrace; that if she must fall, she will fall by 
no ignoble hand. 

It is now sixteen or eighteen years since I saw 
the Queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Ver¬ 
sailles ; and surely never lighted on this orb, which 
she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vis¬ 
ion. I saw her just above the horizon, decorating 
and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to 
move in—glittering like the morning star, full of 
life, and splendour, and joy. Oh! what a revolu¬ 
tion ! and what a heart must I have, to contemplate 
without emotion that elevation and fall! Little did 
I dream that, when she added titles of veneration to 
those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, that 
she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp anti¬ 
dote against disgrace concealed in that bosom; little 
did I dream that I should have lived to see such dis¬ 
asters fallen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in 
a nation of men of honour and of cavaliers. I 
thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from 
their scabbards to avenge even a look that threat¬ 
ened her with insult. But the age of chivalry is 
gone. That of sophists, economists, and calculators, 
has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extin¬ 
guished forever. Never, never more, shall we be- 


188 


Standard Literary Selections. 


hold that generous loyalty to rank and sex, that 
proud submission, that dignified obedience, that sub¬ 
ordination of the heart, which kept alive, even in 
servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted freedom. 
The unbought grace of life, the cheap defence of 
nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic 
enterprise, is gone! It is gone; that sensibility of 
principle, chastity of honour, which felt a stain like 
a wound, which inspired courage whilst it mitigated 
ferocity, which ennobled whatever it touched, and 
under which vice itself lost half its evil, by losing 
all its grossness. —Edmund Burke. 


LESSON LVI 

PART I—THE OCEAN 

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 

There is society, where none intrudes, 

By the deep Sea, and music in its roar: 

I love not Man the less, but Nature more, 
From these our interviews, in which I steal 
From all I may be, or have been before, 

To mingle with the Universe, and feel 
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean—roll! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; 
Man marks the earth with ruin—his control 
Stops with the shore;—upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 



Standard Literary Selections. 189 

A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own, 

When for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
Without a grave, unknell’d, uncoffin’d, and un¬ 
known. 

* * * 

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls 
Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 

And monarchs tremble in their capitals, 

The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make 
Their clay creator the vain title take 
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war; 

These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 

They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
Alike the Armada’s pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— 
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? 
Thy waters wasted them while they were free, 

And many a tyrant since; their shores obey 
The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay 
Has dried up realms to deserts:—not so thou, 
Unchangeable save to thy wild waves’ play— 
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow— 

Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now. 

— Byron. 

PART II—MORNING HYMN TO MONT BLANC 

Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause 
On thy bold awful head, O sovereign Blanc! 


190 


Standard Literary Selections. 


The Arv and Arveiron at thy base 

Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! 

Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, 

How silently! Around thee and above 
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, 

An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it, 

As with a wedge! But when I look again, 

It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, 

Thy habitation from eternity! 

O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee, 

Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, 

Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer 
I worshipped the Invisible alone. 

Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, 

So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 

Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my 
thought, 

Yea, with my life and life’s own secret joy:— 

Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, 

Into the mighty vision passing—there 

As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven. 

Awake, my soul! not only passive praise 
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears, 

Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake, 

Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! 
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn. 

Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the Vale! 
O struggling with the darkness all the night, 

And visited all night by troops of stars, 

Or when they climb the sky or when they sink: 


Standard Literary Selections. 


191 


Companion of the morning-star at dawn, 

Thyself earth’s rosy star, and of the dawn 
Co-herald ! wake, O wake, and utter praise! 

Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? • 

Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 

Who made thee parent of perpetual streams ? 

And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! 
Who called you forth from night and utter death, 
From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 

Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 

For ever shattered and the same for ever? 

Who gave you your invulnerable life, 

Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? 

And who commanded (and the silence came), 
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? 

Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain’s brow 
Adown enormous ravines slope amain— 

Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, 

And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! 
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! 

Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven 
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun 
Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers 
Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?— 
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, 
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God! 

God! sing ye meadow-streams with gladsome voice! 
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! 
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, 

And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! 


192 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! 

Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle’s nest! 

Ye eagles, play-mates of the mountain-storm! 

Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! 

Ye signs and wonders of the element! 

Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! 

Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing 
peaks, 

Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, 

Shoots downward, glittering through the pure 
serene, 

Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast— 
Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou 
That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low 
In adoration, upward from thy base 
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, 
Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, 

To rise before me—Rise, O ever rise, 

Rise like a cloud of incense, from the earth! 
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, 

Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, 
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky, 

And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, 

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. 

— Coleridge. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


193 


LESSON LVII 

BATTLE OF WATERLOO 

There was a sound of revelry by night, 

And Belgium’s capital had gathered then 
Her Beauty and her Chivalry; and bright 

The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men; 
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 
Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
And all went merry as a marriage-bell; 

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising 
knell! 

Did ye not hear it?—No: ’t was but the wind, 

Or the car rattling o’er the stony street: 

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; 

No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet— 
But, hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more, 
As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! 

Arm ! arm ! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar! 


Within a windowed niche of that high hall, 

Sate Brunswick’s fated chieftain; he did hear 
That sound the first amidst the festival, 

And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear; 
And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 


194 Standard Literary Selections. 

His heart more truly knew that peal too well, 
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: 
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 

Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, 
And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago 
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; 
And there were sudden partings, such as press 
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess 
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 

Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could 
rise! 

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, 
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car. 
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed. 
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 

And the deep thunder peal on peal afar, 

And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; 
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, 

Or whispering, with white lips—“The foe! They 
come! they come!” 

And wild and high the “Cameron’s gathering” rose! 

The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills 
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:— 
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, 
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills 


Standard Literary Selections. 195 

Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
With the fierce native daring which instils 
The stirring memory of a thousand years; 

And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clans¬ 
man’s ears! 

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, 
Dewy with nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, 
Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, 

Over the unreturning brave,—alas ! 

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass 
Which now beneath them, but above shall grow 
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass 
Of living valor, rolling on the foe, 

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold aiid 
low. 

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, 

Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay, 

The midnight brought the signal sound of strife, 
The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day, 
Battle’s magnificently-stern array! 

The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent 
The earth is covered thick with other clay, 
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent. 
Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial 
blent! 


— Byron. 


196 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON LVIII 

WORK OF NATURE 

Nature never deceives us—the rocks, the moun¬ 
tains, the streams, always speak the same language: 
a shower of snow may hide the verdant woods in 
spring, a thunder-storm may render the blue limpid 
streams foul and turbulent; but these effects are rare 
and transient;—in a few hours, or at least days, all 
the sources of beauty are renovated. And Nature 
affords no continued trains of misfortune and mis¬ 
eries, such as depend upon the constitution of hu¬ 
manity ; no hopes forever blighted in the bud; no 
beings full of life, beauty, and promise, taken from 
11s in the prime of youth. Her fruits are all balmy, 
bright, and sweet: she affords none of those blighted 
ones so common in the life of man, and so like the 
fabled apples of the Dead Sea—fresh and beautiful 
to the sight, but, when tasted, full of bitterness and 
ashes. 

The operations of Nature, though slow, are 
sure; however man may for a time usurp dominion 
over her, she is certain of recovering her empire. He 
converts her rocks, her stones, her trees, into forms 
of palaces, houses, and ships; he employs the metals 
found in the bosom of the earth as instruments of 
power, and the sands and clays which constitute its 
surface, as ornaments and resources of luxury; he 
imprisons air by water, and tortures water by fire, 
to change, to modify, or destroy the natural forms 


Standard Literary Selections. 


197 


of'things. But, in some lustrums, his works begin 
to change* and, in a few centuries, they decay and 
are in ruins ; and his mighty temples, framed, and his 
were, for immortal and divine purposes; and his 
bridges formed of granite, and ribbed with iron; 
and his walls for defence, and the splendid monu¬ 
ments bv which he has endeavoured to give eternity 
even to his perishable remains—are gradually de¬ 
stroyed ; and these structures, which have resisted 
the waves of the ocean, the tempests of the sky, and 
the stroke of the lightning, shall yield to the opera¬ 
tion of the dews of heaven, of frost, rain, vapour, 
and perceptible atmospheric influences; and as the 
worms devour the lineaments of man’s mortal 
beauty, so the lichens, and the moss, and the most 
insignificant plants, shall feed upon his columns and 
his pyramids; and the most humble and insignificant 
insects shall undermine and sap the foundations of 
his colossal works, and make their habitations 
amongst the ruins of his palaces, and the falling 
seats of his earthly glory. 

Time is almost a human word, and Change en¬ 
tirely a human idea ; in the system of nature we 
should rather sav progress than change. The sun 
appears to sink in the ocean in darkness, but it rises 
in another hemisphere: the ruins of a city fall, but 
they are often used to form more magnificent struc¬ 
tures; even when they are destroyed so as to pro¬ 
duce only dust, Nature asserts her empire over 
them; and the vegetable world rises in constant 
youth, in a period of annual successions, by the la¬ 
bours of man—providing food, vitality, and beauty, 


198 Standard Literary Selections. 


upon the wrecks of monuments which were raised 
for purposes of glory, but which are now applied to 
objects of utility. 

—Sir Humphrey Davy. 


LESSON LIX 

RELIGIOUS EMBLEMS 

The rosary which you see suspended around 
my neck, is a memorial of sympathy and respect for 
an illustrious man. I was passing through France, 
in the reign of Napoleon, by the peculiar privilege 
granted to a savant, on my road to Italy. I had just 
returned from the Holy Land, and had in my pos¬ 
session two or three of the rosaries which are sold 
to pilgrims at Jerusalem, as having been suspended 
in the Holy Sepulchre. Pius VII. was then in im¬ 
prisonment at Fontainbleau. By a special favour, 
on the plea of my return from the Holy Land, I ob¬ 
tained permission to see this venerable and illus¬ 
trious pontiff. I carried with me one of my rosaries. 
He received me with great kindness. I tendered my 
services to execute any commissions, not political 
ones, he might think fit to entrust me with, in Italy, 
informing him that I was an Englishman; he ex¬ 
pressed his thanks, but declined troubling me. I 
told him that I was just returned from the Holy 
Land, and, bowing, with great humility, offered to 
him my rosary from the Holy Sepulchre. He re¬ 
ceived it with a smile, touched it with his lips, gave 



Standard Literary Selections. 199 

his benediction over it, and returned it into my 
hands, supposing, of course, that I was a Roman 
Catholic. I had meant to present it to his Holiness; 
but the blessing he had bestowed upon it, and the 
touch of his lips, made it a precious relic to me; and 
I restored it to my neck, round which it has ever 
since been suspended. * * * “We shall meet 

again; adieu” ; and he gave me his paternal blessing. 

It was eighteen months after this interview, that 
I went out, with almost the whole population of 
Rome, to receive and welcome the triumphal entry 
of this illustrious Father of the Church into his cap¬ 
ital. He was borne on the shoulders of the most 
distinguished artists, headed by Canova; and never 
shall I forget the enthusiasm with which he was re¬ 
ceived; it was impossible to describe the shouts of 
triumph and of rapture sent up to heaven by every 
voice. And when he gave his benediction to the 
people, there was a universal prostration, a sobbing, 
and marks of emotion and joy, almost like the burst¬ 
ing of the heart. I heard everywhere around me 
cries of “The Holy Father! the Most Holy Father! 
His restoration is the work of God!” I saw tears 
streaming from the eyes of almost all the women 
about me, many of whom were sobbing hysterically, 
and old men were weeping as if they were children. 
T pressed my rosary to my breast on this occasion, 
and repeatedly touched with my lips that part of it 
which had received the kiss of the most venerable 
pontiff. I preserve it with a kind of hallowed feel¬ 
ing, as a memorial of a man whose sanctity, firm¬ 
ness, meekness, and benevolence, are an honour to 
his church, and to human nature; and it has not only 


200 


Standard Literary Selections. 


been useful to trie, by its influence on my own mind, 
but it has enabled me to give pleasure to others, and 
has, I believe, been sometimes beneficial in insuring 
my personal safety. I have often gratified the peas¬ 
ants of Apulia and Calabria, by presenting them to 
kiss, a rosary from the Holy Sepulchre, which had 
been hallowed by the touch of the lips and benedic¬ 
tion of the Pope; and it has even been respected by, 
and procured me a safe passage through, a party of 
brigands, who once stopped me in the passes of 
the Appennines. 

—Sir Humphrey Davy. 


LESSON LX 

ODE TO THE PASSIONS 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
While yet in early Greece she sung, 

The Passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Throng’d around her magic cell, 

Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possess’d beyond the Muse’s painting; 

By turns they felt the glowing mind 
Disturb’d, delighted, raised, refined: 

Till once, 't is said, when all were fired, 
Fill’d with fury, rapt, inspired, 

From the supporting myrtles round 
They snatch’d her instruments of sound; 
And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 

Each (for Madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


201 


First Fear his hand, his skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewilder’d laid; 

And back recoil'd, he knew not why, 

E’en at the sound himself had made. 

Next Anger rush’d; his eyes on fire 
In lightings own’d his secret stings; 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre, 

And swept with hurried hands the strings. 

With woful measures wan Despair, 

Low, sullen sounds, his grief beguiled,— 

A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 

T was sad by fits; by starts’t was wild. 

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,— 

What was thy delighted measure! 

Still it whisper’d promised pleasure, 

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail! 

Still would her touch the strain prolong, 

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 

She call’d on Echo still through all the song; 
And, where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; 
And Hope enchanted smiled, and waved her golden 
hair. 

And longer had she sung, but, with a frown, 
Revenge impatient rose. 

He threw his blood-stain’d sword in thunder down, 
And with a withering look 
The war-denouncing trumpet took, 

And blew a blast, so loud and dread 
Were ne’er prophetic sounds so full of woe: 


202 


Standard Literary Selections. 


And ever and anon he beat 

The doubling drum with furious heat; 

And though sometimes, each dreary pause between, 
Dejected Pity at his side 
Her soul-subduing voice applied, 

Yet still he kept his wild unalter’d mien, 

While each strain’d ball of sight seem’d bursting 
from his head. 

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix’d, 

Sad proof of thy distressful state; 

Of differing themes the veering song was mix’d; 
And now it courted Love, now, raving, call’d on 
Hate. 

With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sate retir’d ; 

And from her wild sequester’d seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet, 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul; 
And dashing soft, from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure 
stole, 

Or o’er some haunted stream with fond delay, 
Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lonely musing, 

In hollow murmurs died away. 

But, O, how alter’d was its sprightlier tone, 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
Her bow across her shoulders flung, 

Her buskins gemm’d with morning dew. 


Standard Literary Selections’ 203 

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung; 
The hunter’s call, to faun and dryad known! 

The oak-crown’d sisters and their chaste-eved 
queen, 

Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen, 

Peeping from forth their alleys green; 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear, 

And Sport leaped up, and seized his beechen spear. 

Last came Joy’s ecstatic trial; 

He with viny crown advancing, 

First to the lively pipe his hand address’d: 

But, soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol, 
Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 
They would have thought, who heard the strain, 
They saw in Tempe’s vale her native maids, 
Amid the festal-sounding shades, 

To some unwearied minstrel dancing, 

While, as his flying fingers kiss’d the strings, 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round; 
And he, amidst his frolic play, 

As if he would the charming air repay, 

Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. 

— Collins. 


LESSON LXI 


THE PRESENCE OF GOD 

Of all the exercises of a Christian life, there is 
not one on which the saints set so high a value, or 
which they have more strongly recommended, than 



204 


Standard Literary Selections. 


that of the presence of_God. It is important for u§' 
to know well its obligation, its utility, and its prac¬ 
tice. 

The obligation of this exercise is founded on 
these two principles of faith—God is in all places, 
and God sees all things. He is in all places: then 
we owe him respect in all places. We ought in all 
places to remember the preeminence of His being 
and our dependence. There is no place in the universe 
which is not consecrated by the presence of His 
Majesty; and wheresoever I am, i may say with 
Jacob, “This place is holy, and I knew it not,” or 
rather, I did not think of it, I did not reflect on it. 
Thus, the exercise of the presence of God is the 
legitimate homage and worship which we render to 
His immensity. St. Augustine figured it to himself 
as a vast ocean, in which all creatures are swallowed 
up and penetrated with the essence of God, with¬ 
out ever being able to disengage themselves from 
Him, because they are present to Him by the neces¬ 
sity of their being. Is it not just, then, that man, 
who is an intelligent and rational creature, should 
make it a religious duty to be also present to Him in 
mind and heart, considering himself continually in 
God, and considering God in him, since there are 
such essential ties between them ? God being every¬ 
where at the same time, sees all things, and observes 
all things. We ought then, as far as in our power, 
have Him continually in view, and walk always as 
having Him for witness, not only of our actions, 
but of our most secret intentions—that God, whose 
penetration is infinite, to whom, in spite of our¬ 
selves, we serve as a continual spectacle, and from 


Standard Literary Selections. 205 

whose knowledge nothing can conceal itself or 
escape. “Where shall I go, Lord,” says David, “to 
hide myself from Thy divine understanding, and 
where shall I fly from before Thy face ?” 

The utility of the exercise of the presence of 
God consists in its being a sovereign preservative 
against sin, and a short and abridged way to arrive 
at perfection. A sovereign preservative against sin 
—for there is nothing more proper to restrain us 
than to think we are before God; nothing more 
efficacious to repress the motions of passion, to make 
us triumph over the most violent temptations than 
to remember that we are in the presence of our 
Judge; of Him who is about to condemn us, and 
who is ready to pronounce sentence against us, if 
we be so rash as to offend Him. There is no temp¬ 
tation which this reflection will not surmount; no 
passion so violent which it will not check; no fraility, 
no fall, from which it will not preserve. Our sins 
are, for the most part, occasioned by our losing sight 
of God, and we would scarcely ever sin, if we had 
Him continually before us. “To sin against God,” 
says St. Augustine, “is a crime; but he who sins 
with God in his view is a monster; and there are 
few sinners who would be audacious enough to go 
so far, if they were but pre-occupied with this sen¬ 
timent —God sees me” The presence of God is an 
abridged way of arriving at perfection. This is 
what God .Himself taught to Abraham when H. ? 
said to him, “Walk before me and be perfect.” The' 
true perfection of the Christian consists in doing all 
his actions well; not carelessly, but with application 
and fervour. Now what is there that can inspire 


206 


Standard Literary Selections. 


us with this fervour in all our actions, what can 
animate us more, and correct in us the disorder of a 
slothful and negligent life, than the remembrance of 
God’s presence ? He sees us; we have Him as a 
continual spectator of our actions. Can I, then, be 
tepid and languishing in His service, and in what I 
do for Him ? This presence of God is, moreover, a 
source of consolation for just souls, and a support 
in all the efforts and struggles which the care of 
their perfection costs them. What can be sweeter 
than this thought: God is with me—God as He is, 
He applies Himself to me, and is employed about 
me ? Is not this thought alone more than sufficient 
to soften all the pains that may present themselves, 
and to fortify us in all the combats we may have to 
encounter ? Such is the fruit of the presence of God. 
“Let the just,” says the Scripture, “be filled with a 
holy joy”; and how could it be otherwise, “since 
they have had God always before them, and since 
they are continually under his eyes”? 

— Bourdaloue . 


LESSON LXII 

LIES OF HISTORY 

Abstractedly from all the influences which we 
have sustained in common with the rest of the civ¬ 
ilized commonwealth, our British disparagement of 
the Middle Ages has been exceedingly enhanced by 
our grizzled ecclesiastical or church historians of 



Standard Literary Selections. 207 

the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. These 
“standard works,” accepted and received as Canon¬ 
ical Books, have tainted the nobility of our national 
mind. An adequate parallel to their bitterness, their 
shabbiness, their shrinking, their habitual disregard 
of honour and veracity, is hardly afforded even by 
the so-called “Anti-Jacobin” during the revolutionary 
and Imperial wars. The history of Napoleon, his 
generals, and the French nation, collected from these 
exaggerations of selfish loyalty, rabid aversion, and 
panic terror, would be the match of our popular and 
prevailing ideas concerning Hildebrand, or Anselm, 
or Becket, or Innocent III., or mediaeval Catholicity 
in general, grounded upon our ancestral tradition¬ 
ary “standard ecclesiastical authorities,” such as 
Burnet’s Reformation , or Fox’s Book of Martyrs. 

The scheme and intent of mediaeval Catholicity 
was to render Faith the all-actuating and all-con¬ 
trolling vitality. So far as the system extended, it 
had the effect of connecting every social element 
with Christianity. And Christianity being thus 
wrought up into the mediaeval system, every mediae¬ 
val institution, character, or mode of .thought af¬ 
forded the means or vehicle for the villification of 
Christianity. Never do these writers, or their 
school, whether in France or in Great Britain, Vol¬ 
taire or.Mably, Hume, Robertson, or Henry, treat 
the Clergy of the Church with fairness; not even 
with common honesty. If historical notoriety en¬ 
forces the allowance of any merit to a priest, the 
effect of this extorted acknowledgment is destroyed 
by a clever insinuation, or a coarse innuendo. Con¬ 
sult, for example, Hume when compelled to notice 


208 


Standard Literary Selections. 


the Archbishop Hubert’s exertions in procuring the 
concessions of the Magna Charta; and Henry, nar¬ 
rating the communications which passed between 
Gregory the Great and Saint Austin. 

—Sir Francis Palgrave . 


LESSON LXIII 

ROMAN WAR COUNCIL 

Cato. —Fathers, we once again are met in council; 
Caesar’s approach has summoned us together, 

And Rome attends her fate from our resolves. 

How shall we treat this bold aspiring man? 

Success still follows him, and backs his crimes; 
Pharsalia gave him Rome, Egypt has since 
Received his yoke, and the whole Nile is Caesar’s. 
Why should I mention Juba’s overthrow, 

And Scipio’s death? Numidia’s burning sands 
Still smoke with blood. ’Tis time we should decree 
What course to take. Our foe advances on us, 

And envies us even Lybia’s sultry deserts. 

Fathers, pronounce your thoughts; are they still 
fix’d 

To hold it out, and fight it to the last? 

Or are your hearts subdued at length, and wrought 
By time, and ill success, to a submission ? 
Sempronius, speak. 

Sempronius.— My voice is still for war. 

Shall then a Roman senate long debate 
Which of the two to choose—slavery or death ? 



Standard Literary Selections. 


209 


No; let us rise at once, gird on your swords, 

And, at the head of our remaining troops, 

Attack the foe, break through the thick array 
Of his throng’d legions, and charge home upon him. 
Perhaps some arm, more lucky than the rest, 

May reach his heart, and free the world from 
bondage. 

Rise, fathers, rise! ’tis Rome demands your help; 
Rise, and avenge her slaughter’d citizens, 

Or share their fate! The corpse of half her senate 
Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we 
Sit here deliberating in cold debates, 

If we should sacrifice our lives to honour, 

Or wear them out in servitude and chains! 

Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia 
Point at their wounds, and cry aloud—To battle! 
Great Pompey’s shade complains that we are slow, 
And Scipio’s ghost walks unavenged amongst us! 

Cato. —Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal 
Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason : 
True fortitude is seen in great exploits 
That justice warrants and that wisdom guides: 

All else is tow’ring frenzy and distraction. 

Lucius, we next would know what’s your opinion. 

Lucius.—My thoughts, I must confess, are 
turn’d on peace. 

Already have our quarrels filled the world 
With widows and with orphans; Scythia mourns 
Our guilty wars, and earth’s remotest regions 
Lie half unpeopled by the feuds of Rome; 

’Tis time to sheathe the sword, and spare mankind. 


210 


Standard Literary Selections. 


It is not Csesar, but the gods, my fathers— 

The gods declare against us, and repel 
Our vain attempts. To urge the foe to battle 
(Prompted by blind revenge and wild despair), 
Were to refuse th’ awards of Providence, 

And not to rest in heaven’s determination. 

Already have we shown our love to Rome: 

Now let us show submission to the gods. 

We took up arms, not to revenge ourselves, 

But free the commonwealth; when this end fails, 
Arms have no further use; our country’s cause, 
That drew our swords, now wrests them from our 
hands, 

And bids us not to delight in Roman blood 
Unprofitably shed. What men could do 
Is done already; heaven and earth will witness, 

If Rome must fall, then we are innocent. 

Sempronius. —This smooth discourse and mild 
behaviour oft 

Conceal a traitor. Something whispers me, 

All is not right;—Cato, beware of Lucius. 

Cato. —Let us appear not rash nor diffident; 
Immoderate valour swells into a fault; 

And fear, admitted into public councils, 

Betrays like treason. Let us shun them both. 
Fathers, I cannot see that our affairs 
Are grown thus desperate. ’Twill never be too late 
To sue for chains and own a conqueror. 

Why should Rome fall a moment e’er her time? 

No; let us draw her term of freedom out 
In its full length, and spin it to the last; 


Standard Literary Selections. 


211 


So shall we gain still one day’s liberty; 

And let me perish, but, in Cato’s judgment, 

A day, an hour, of virtuous liberty, 

Ts worth a whole eternity in bondage. 

— Addison. 


LESSON LXIV 

ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day 
The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea, 
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 
And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 


Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight. 
And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
And drowsy tinkling lull the distant folds: 


Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
The moping owl does to the moon complain 
Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, 
Molest her ancient solitary reign. 


Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-trees’s shade, 
Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 



212 


Standard Literary Selections. 


The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn, 

The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 
The cock’s shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 

For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 

Or busy housewife ply her evening care; 

No children run to lisp their sire’s return, 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 

Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
How jocund did they drive their team afield! 

How bow’d the woods beneath their sturdy stroke * 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 

Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 

And all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave, 
Await alike th’ inevitable hour:— 

The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 
If Memory o’er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted 
vault 

The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 

Can storied urn or animated bust 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath; 

Can Honour’s voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of death? 


Standard Literary Selections. 


213 


Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page 
Rich with the spoils of time did ne'er unroll; 

Chill Penury repress’d their noble rage, 

And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 

The dark unfathom’d caves of ocean bear: 

Full many a flower is bom to blush unseen, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood, 

Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 

Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country’s blood. 

Th’ applause of listening senates to command, 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 

To scatter plenty o’er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation’s eyes, 

Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone 
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide; 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the Muse’s flame. 


214 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Far from the madding crowd’s ignoble strife 
Their sober wishes never learn’d to stray; 

Along the cool, sequestr’d vale of life 

They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet e’en these bones from insult to protect 
Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 

With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture 
deck’d, 

Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 

Their names, their years, spelt by th’ unletter’d muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply: 

And many a holy text around she strews, 

That teach the rustic moralist to die. 

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing, anxious being e’er resigned, 

Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 

Some pious drops the closing eye requires; 

E’en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
E’en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee who, mindful of th’ unhonour’d dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 

If chance, by lonely contemplation led, 

Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. 

Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 

“Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, 

To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; 


Standard Literary Selections. 


215 


“There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 

That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 

His listless length at moontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 

“Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn. 
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove, 

Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, 

Or crazed with care, or cross’d in hopeless love. 

“One morn I miss’d him on the ’custom’d hill, 
Along the heath and near his favourite tree; 

Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 

Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 

“The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 

Slow through the churchway path we saw him 
borne;— 

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn.” 

The Epitaph 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 

A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown; 

Fair Science frown’d not on his humble birth, 

And Melancholy mark’d him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; 

Heaven did a recompense as largely send: 

He gave to misery (all he had) a tear, 

He gain’d from Heaven (’t was all he wish’d) 
a friend. 


216 


Standard Literary Selections. 


No further seek his merits to disclose, 

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
(There they alike in trembling hope repose) 

The bosom of his Father and his God. 

— Gray. 


LESSON LXV 

THE CHURCH AND SOCIETY 

The kingdom of Jesus Christ is His Church, one 
and universal, and by it He exercises His sover¬ 
eignty over the nations. The commission of His 
Apostles was to found a universal kingdom, which 
should never be destroyed; of which the prophet 
has said, “It shall not be delivered up to another 
people!” Empires have passed from people to peo¬ 
ple, kingdoms have vanished from off the face of 
the earth; but the kingdom of Jesus Christ can 
never pass to any hand from that which was pierced 
on Calvary. His kingdom shall endure to all eter¬ 
nity. The Church of God on earth is a true king¬ 
dom, reigning by its own right. It has a right to 
its own existence, to its own possessions, to its own 
legislature, to its own executive, and to its own 
tribunals. It receives these prerogatives neither 
from king, nor prince, nor people; and no human 
authority can circumscribe its limits. Nay, it cir¬ 
cumscribes the limit of all other authority, and is 
itself subject to none but God only. When the 
Church came into this world, it suffered its ten per- 



Standard Literary Selections. 


217 


secutions. The world, if it had been possible, would 
have been stifled in its own blood; but an indefect¬ 
ible life cannot perish. For three hundred years it 
spread, and penetrated and pervaded the whole 
civil society of the world; it entered into households, 
and peoples, and nations, and cities, and kingdoms. 
It reached, at last, to the palace of the Caesars; it 
took possession of the imperial family; it converted 
the emperor on his throne; and when it had per¬ 
vaded the senate, and the tribunals, and the whole 
civil life of Rome, the empire was elevated above 
itself. It became regenerated by grace, and lived a 
new life, and was guided by new laws, and con¬ 
firmed by new authorities; and the civil society of 
the world was born again. That which God has 
created in the natural state was elevated, by its 
union with the Church, to the supernatural order; 
the members of it were regenerated by water and the 
Holy Ghost, and became members of the kingdom of 
God, illuminated by faith under the guidance of the 
pastors of the Universal Church and the Vicar of 
Jesus Christ. Then came to pass a change so terrible, 
that the world does not contain in history anything 
more fearful. Rome, which had governed the world 
by its laws, and its warfare, and its civilization, 
was purged by fire and by blood. The kingdom of 
Jesus Christ then took possession of the civil society 
of the world. Then passed away the old civiliza¬ 
tion, which was corrupt to the very marrow; so 
corrupt, that nothing could have changed it but 
the baptism of fire, by which it was cleansed. The 
most terrible judgments of God fell upon Rome, 
upon the city, and upon the provinces of the Roman 


218 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Empire. They were purged by wars, massacres, 
and pestilence; the old world was burned down to 
the roots, that the new civilization and the new 
Christian world might spring from the earth purified 
by fire. 

And nothing could be more beautiful, nothing 
more like to the vision of the Heavenly City, than 
the rise of this Christian civilization. When, in the 
love of God, slavery began to melt away; when fa¬ 
thers with horror cast from them the power of life 
and death over their children and their slaves as a 
thing too hideous for Christian men; when husbands 
renounced with thanksgiving to their Redeemer 
the power of life and death over wives; when the 
horrors, and injustice, and abominations of the 
pagan domestic life gave place to the charities of 
Christian homes, then the whole world was lifted 
to a higher sphere. It had come under the light and 
jurisdiction of the sovereignty of Jesus Christ. 
Such was the growth of the world; beginning, I 
will say, from the time of St. Gregory the Great, the 
apostle of our Christianity, who reigned with a pa¬ 
triarchal sway over the three-and-twenty patri¬ 
monies of the Church—over Italy and the north of 
Africa, and the coasts of the Adriatic and the south 
of France, and Sicily, and the islands of the Medi¬ 
terranean. This new Christian world was the germ 
of modern Europe. The Pontiffs laid the founda¬ 
tions of a world which is now passing away—a 
Christian commonwealth of nations, about 'which 
men vaunt themselves as if they were its saviours, 
though they never cease to destroy it. 

—Cardinal Manning. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


219 


LESSON LXVI 

PART I-LOOK HOME 

Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights, 

As beauty doth in self-beholding eye: 

Man’s mind a mirror is of heavenly sights, 

A brief wherein all morals summed lie; 

Of fairest forms and sweetest shapes the store, 

Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more. 

The mind a creature is, yet can create, 

To nature's patterns adding higher skill 

Of finest works wit could improve the state, 

If force of wit had equal pow’r of 'will. 

Device of man in working hath no end; 

What thought can think, another thought can mend. 

Man’s soul of endless beauties image is, 

Drawn by the work of endless skill and might: 

This skilful might gave many sparks of bliss, 

And to discern this bliss a native light, 

To frame God’s image as His word required, 

His might, his skill, his word, and will conspired. 

All that he had, his image should present, 

All that it should present, he could afford; 

To that he could afford, his will was bent; 

His will was follow’d with performing word. 

Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest, 

He should, he could, he would, he did the best. 

— Southwell. 


220 


Standard Literary Selections. 


PART II—MARRULUS's SPEECH TO THE MOB 

Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he 
home ? 

What tributaries follow him to Rome, 

To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels? 

You blocks, you stones! you worse than senseless 
things, 

O, you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, 

Knew you not Pompey ? Many a time and oft 
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements, 

To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, 
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat 
The livelong day, with patient expectation, 

To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome; 
And, when you saw his chariot but appear, 

Have you not made an universal shout, 

That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, 

To hear the replication of your sounds 
Made in her concave shores? 

And do you now put on your best attire ? 

And do you now cull out a holiday? 

And do you now strew flowers in his way 
That comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood? 

Be gone! 

Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, 

Pray to the gods to intermit the plague 
That needs must light on this ingratitude. 

— Shakespeare. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


221 


LESSON LXVII 

THE STREAM OF LIFE 

The stream that hurries by yon fixed shore 
Returns no more; 

The wind that dries at morn yon dewy lawn, 
Breathes and is gone; 

Those wither’d flow’rs to summer’s ripening glow 
No more shall blow ; 

Those fallen leaves that strew yon garden bed, 

For aye are dead. 


Of laugh, of jest, of mirth, of pleasure past, 
Nothing shall last; 

On shore, on sea, on hill, on vale, on plain, 
Nought shall remain; 

Of all for which poor mortals vainly mourn. 
Nought shall return; 

Life hath its hour in heaven and earth beneath, 
And so hath death. 


Not all the chains that clank in eastern clime, 
Can fetter time; 

For all the phials in the doctor’s store 
Youth comes no more ; 

No drug on Age’s wrinkled cheek renews 
Life’s early hues; 

Not all the tears by pious mourners shed 
Can wake the dead. 


222 Standard literary Selections. 

For all Spring gives, and Winter takes again, 

W’e grieve in vain ; 

Vainly for sunshine fled, and joys gone by, 

We heave a sigh; 

On, ever on, with unexhausted breath, 

Time hastes to death. 

Even with each word we speak a moment flies, 

Is born, and dies. 

If thus through lesser Nature’s empire wide 
Nothing abide; 

If wind, and wave, and leaf, and sun, and flow’r, 
Have each their hour— 

He walks on ice, whose dallying spirit clings 
To earthly things ; 

And he alone is wise, whose well-taught love 
Is fixed above. 

Truths firm as bright, but oft to mortal ear 
Chilling and drear; 

Harsh as the raven’s croak the sounds that tell 
Of pleasure’s knell. 

Pray, reader, that at least the minstrel’s strain 
Not all be vain; 

And when thou bend’st to God the suppliant knee. 
Remember me! 


—Gerald Griffin. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


223 


LESSON LXVIII 
mark antony's oration 

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears: 
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. 

The evil that men do lives after them, 

The good is oft interred with their bones; 

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus 
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious; 

If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 

And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it. 

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,— 

For Brutus is an honourable man! 

So are the} all, all honourable men,— 

Come I to speak in Caesar’s funeral. 

He was my friend, faithful and just to me, 

But Brutus says he was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honourable man! 

He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
Whose ransom did the general coffers fill; 

Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? 

When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: 
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff, 

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 

And Brutus is an honourable man. 

You all did see that on the Lupercal, 

I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? 
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; 

And, sure, he is an honourable man. 

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, 


224 


Standard Literary Selections. 


But here I am to speak what I do know. 

You all did love him once, not without cause; 
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him ? 
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 

And men have lost their reason!—Bear with me; 
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, 

And I must pause till it come back to me! 

* * * 

But yesterday the word of Caesar might 
Have stood against the world; now lies he there, 
And none so poor to do him reverence. 

O masters! if I were dispos’d to stir 
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 

I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, 
Who, you all know, are honourable men. 

I will not do them wrong; I rather choose 
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, 
Than I will wrong such honourable men. 

But here’s a parchment with the seal of Caesar; 

I found it in his closet, ’tis his will: 

Let but the Commons hear this testament; 
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read.) 

And they would go and kiss dead Caesar’s wounds, 
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; 

Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 

And, dying, mention it within their wills, 
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 

Unto their issue. 

* * * 

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. 

You all do know this mantle: I remember 
The first time ever Caesar put it on; 


Standard Literary Selections. 225 

’Twas on a summer’s evening, in his tent, 

That day he overcame the Nervii. 

Look! in this place ran Cassius’ dagger through, 
See what a rent the envious Casca made; 

Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabb’d; 
And, as he pluck’d his cursed steel away, 

Mark how the blood of Caesar follow’d it, 

As rushing out of doors, to be resolv’d 
If Brutus so unkindly knock’d, or no; 

For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar’s angel: 
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar lov’d him! 
This was the most unkindest cut of all; 

For, when the noble Caesar saw him stab, 
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms, 

Quite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart; 
And, in his mantle muffling up his face, 

Even at the base of Pompey’s statua, 

Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell. 

O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! 

Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 

Whilst bloody treason flourish’d over us. 

O, now you weep, and I perceive you feel 
The dint of pity; these are gracious drops. 

Kind souls! what, weep you when you but behold 
Our Caesar’s vesture wounded? Look you here. 
Here is himself marr’d, as you see, with traitors. 

* * Jk 

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up 
To such a sudden flood of mutiny. 

They that have done this deed are honourable: 
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not. 
That made them do it; they are wise and honourable, 


22b 


Standard Literary Selections. 


And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. 

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts: 
l am no orator, as Brutus is, 

/ut, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, 

That love my friend; and that they know full well 
That gave me public leave to speak of him. 

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, 
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, 

To stir men’s blood; I only speak right on; 

I tell you that which you yourselves do know, 
Show you sweet Caesar’s wounds, poor, poor, dumb 
mouths, 

And bid them speak for me: but were I Brutus, 
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony 
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue 
In every wound of Caesar that should move 
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 

— Shakespeare. 


LESSON LXIX 

THE ACTION OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN UP¬ 
ROOTING SLAVERY 

While Christianity broke clown the contempt 
with which the master had regarded his slaves, and 
planted among the latter a principle of moral regen¬ 
eration which expanded in no other sphere with an 
equal perfection, its action in procuring the free¬ 
dom of the slaves was unceasing. The law of Con¬ 
stantine, which placed the ceremony under the su- 



Standard Literary Selections. 227 

perintendence of the clergy, and the many laws that 
gave special facilities of manumission to those who 
desired to enter the monasteries or the priesthood, 
symbolized the religious character the act had as¬ 
sumed. 

It was celebrated on Church festivals, especially 
on Easter. St. Melania was said to have emanci¬ 
pated 8,000 slaves; St. Ovidus, a rich martyr of 
Gaul, 5,000; Chromatius, a Roman prefect under 
Diocletian, 1,400; Hermes, a prefect of the reign 
of Trajan, 1,250; Pope St. Gregory, and many of 
the clergy of Hippo, under the rule of St. August¬ 
ine, and great numbers of private individuals, freed 
their slaves as an act of piety. It became customary 
to do so on occasions of national or personal thanks¬ 
giving, on recovery from sickness, on the birth of 
a child, at the hour of death, and above all, in testa¬ 
mentary bequests. Numerous charters and epitaphs 
still record the gift of liberty to slaves throughout 
the middle ages. In the thirteenth century, when 
there were no slaves to emancipate in France, it was 
usual in many churches to release caged pigeons on 
‘the- ecclesiastical festivals in memory of the ancient 
'charity, and that prisoners might still be freed in 
the name of Christ. 

; -Closely connected with the’ influence of. /.the 
Church in destroying hereditary slavery, was its in¬ 
fluence in redeeming captives from servitude. In 
no other form of charity was its beneficial character 
more continually and more splendidly displayed. 
During the long and dreary trials of the barbarian 
invasions, when the whole structure of society was 
dislocated, when vast districts and mighty cities 


228 


Standard Literary Selections. 


were, in a few months, almost depopulated, and 
when the flower of the youth of Italy were mowed 
down by the sword or carried away into captivity, 
the bishops never desisted from their efforts to alle¬ 
viate the sufferings of the prisoners. St. Ambrose, 
disregarding the outcries of the Arians, who de¬ 
nounced his act as atrocious sacrilege, sold the rich 
church ornaments of Milan to rescue some captives 
who had fallen into the hands of the Goths, and this 
practice—which was afterwards formally sanctioned 
by St. Gregory the Great—became speedily general. 

When the Roman army had captured, but re¬ 
fused to support, seven thousand Persian prisoners, 
Acacius, Bishop of Amida, undeterred by the bitter 
hostility of the Persians to Christianity, sold all the 
rich church ornaments of his diocese, rescued the 
unbelieving prisoners, and sent them back un¬ 
harmed to their king. During the horrors of the 
Vandal invasion, Deogratias, Bishop of Carthage, 
took a similar step to ransom the Roman prisoners. 
St. Augustine, St. Gregory the Great, St. Csesarius 
of Arles, St. Exuperius of Tolouse, St. Hilary, St. 
Remi, all melted down or sold their church vases to 
free prisoners. St. Cyprian sent a large sum for the 
same purpose to the Bishop of Nicomedia. St. 
Epiphanius and St. Avitus, in conjunction with a 
rich Gaulish lady named Syagria, are said to have 
rescued thousands. St. Eloi devoted to this object 
his entire fortune. St. Paulinus of Nola displayed 
a similar generosity. When, long afterward, the 
Mohammedan conquests in a measure reproduced 
the calamities of the barbarian invasions, the same 
unwearied charity was displayed. The Trinitarian 


Standard Literary Selections. 


229 


monks, founded by John of Matha, in the twelfth 
century, were devoted to the release of Christian 
captives, and another society was founded with the 
same object by Peter Nolasco in the following cen¬ 
tury. —i ec ky. 


LESSON LXX 

THE CROSS OF THE SOUTH 

In the silence and grandeur of midnight I tread 
Where savannahs in boundless magnificence spread, 
And bearing sublimely their snow-wreaths on high, 
The far Cordilleras unite with the sky. 

The fern-tree waves o’er me, the fire-fly’s red light 
With its quick-glancing splendour illumines the 
night, 

And I read in each line of the skies and the earth 
How distant my steps from the land of my birth. 

But to thee, as thy lode-stars resplendently burn 
In their clear depths of blue, with devotion I turn, 
Bright Cross of the South !—and beholding thee 
shine, 

Scarce regret the loved land of the olive and vine. 

Thou recallest the ages when first o’er the main, 

My fathers unfolded the ensign of Spain, 

And planted their faith in the regions that see 
Its unperishing symbol emblazon’d in thee. 



230 


Standard Literary Selections. 


How oft in their course o’er the ocean’s unknown, 
Where all was mysterious and awful and lone, 
Hath their spirit been cheer’d by thy light, when 
the deep 

Reflected its brilliance in tremulous sleep! 

As the vision that rose to the Lord of the world,* 
When first his bright banner of faith was unfurl’d ; 
Even such to the heroes of Spain, when their prow 
Made the billows tl\e path of their glory, wert thou. 

And to me, as I traverse the world of the west, 
Through deserts of beauty in stillness that rest; 

By forests and rivers untamed in their pride, 

Thy beams have a language, thy course is a guide. 

Shine on—my own land is a far distant spot, 

And the stars of thy sphere can enlighten it not, 
And the eyes that I love, though e’en now they 
may be 

O’er the firmament wandering, can gaze not on thee! 

But thou to my thoughts art a pure-blazing shrine, 
A fount of bright hopes, and of visions divine; 
And my soul, as an eagle exulting and free. 

Soars high o’er the Andes to mingle with thee. 

— Mrs. Hemans. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


231 


LESSON LXX1 

PART I-THE MAIL CARRIER 

Hark ! ’tis the twanging - horn o’er yonder bridge, 
That with its wearisome but needful length 
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright 
He comes the herald of a noisy world, 

With spatter'd boots, strapp’d waist, and frozen 
locks.; 

News from all nations lumbering at his back. 

True to his charge, the close-pack’d load behind, 
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 
Is to conduct it to the destined inn; 

And, having dropp’d the expected bag, pass on. 

He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, 

Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief 
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; 

To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 

Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, 

Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
With tears that trickled down the writer’s cheeks 
Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. 

But oh! the important budget! usher’d in 
With such heart-shaking music, who can say 
.Chat are its tidings? Have our troops awaked? 
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg’d. 

Snore to the murmur of the Atlantic wave? 

Is India free ? and does she wear her plumed 
And jewell’d turban with a smile of peace, 

Or do we grind her still ? The grand debate, 


232 


Standard Literary Selections. 


The popular harangue, the tart reply, 

The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, 

And the loud laugh—I long to know them all; 

I burn to set the imprison’d wranglers free, 

And give them voice and utterance once again. 

—Cow per. 

PART II-EVENINGS AT HOME 

Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 

Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 

And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 

That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 

So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 

Not such his evening, who with shining face 
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed 
And bored with elbow-points through both his sides, 
Out-scolds the ranting actor on the stage: 

Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb 
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, 

Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 

This folio of four pages, happy work! 

Which not even critics criticise; that holds 
Inquisitive attention, while I read, 

Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, 
Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; 
What is it but a map of busy life, 

Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns? 

Here runs the mountainous and the craggy ridge 
That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
The seals of office glitter in his eyes; 

He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels, 


Standard Literary Selections. 233 

Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, 

And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down, 
And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. 

Here rills of oily eloquence in soft 
Meanders lubricate the course they take; 

The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved 
To engross a moment’s notice; and yet begs, 

Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, 
However trivial all that he conceives. 

Sweet bashfulness! it claims at least this praise, 
The dearth of information and good sense, 

That it foretells us, always comes to pass. 
Cataracts of declamation thunder here; 

There forests of no meaning spread the page, 

In which all comprehension wanders lost; 

While fields of pleasantry amuse us there 
With merry descants on a nation’s woes. 

The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks, 

And lilies for the brows of faded age; 

Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
Heaven, earth, and ocean, plunder’d of their sweets; 
Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, 

Sermons, and city feasts, and fav’rite airs, 

Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits, 

And Katerfelto, with his hair on end 
At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. 

’Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, 

To peep at such a world; to see the stir 
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; 

To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 


234 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
To some secure and more than mortal height, 

That liberates and exempts me from them all. 

It turns submitted to my view, turns round 
With all its generations; I behold 
The tumult, and am still. The sound of war 
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me; 

Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
And avarice that makes man a wolf to man ; 

Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats, 

By which he speaks the language of his heart, 

And sigh, but never tremble, at the sound. 

He travels and expatiates, as the bee 

From flower to flower, so lie from land to land; 

The manners, customs, policy of all, 

Pay contribution to the store he gleans; 

He sucks intelligence in every clime, 

And spreads the honey of his deep research 
At his return—a rich repast for me. 

He travels, and I too. I tread his deck. 

Ascend his top-mast, through his peering eyes 
Discover countries, with a kindred heart 
Suffer his woes and share in his escapes; 

While fancy, like the finger of a clock, 

Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 

— Cowper. 


Standard Literary Selections. 235 


LESSON LXXII 

THE CHURCH AND THE BIBLE 

The Catholic Church is not the enemy of the 
Bible. I affirm it, and I shall prove it. She has not 
been its enemy. She has been the guardian of its 
purity, and the preserver of its existence, through 
the chances and changes of eighteen hundred years. 
In the gloom of the Catacombs, and the splendour 
of the Basilica, she cherished it with equal rever¬ 
ence. When she saw the seed of Christianity sown 
in the blood of the martyrs, and braved the perse¬ 
cutions of the despots of the world—and when those 
despots bowed before the symbol of redemption, and 
she was lifted from her earthly humbleness, and 
“reared her mitred head” in court and palaces, it 
was equally the object of her unceasing care. She 
gathered together its scattered fragments—separated 
the true word of inspiration from the spurious in¬ 
ventions of presumptuous and deceitful men made 
its teachings and its history familiar to her children 
in her noble liturgy—translated it into the lan¬ 
guage which was familiar to every one who could 
read at all—asserted its divine authority in her 
councils—maintained its canonical integrity against 
all gainsavers—and transmitted it, from age to age, 
as the precious inheritance of the Christian people. 

The saints whom she most reveres were its sag- 
est commentators, and of the army of her white- 
robed martyrs, whom she commemorates on her 
festal days, there are many who reached their im- 


236 Standard Literary Selections. 

mortal crowns by refusing, on the rack and in the 
flames, to desecrate or deny the Holy Book of God. 
And when time passed on, and barbarism swept over 
the earth from its northern fastnesses, and the land¬ 
marks of the old civilization vanished away, and 
rude violence and savage ignorance threatened to 
crush forever the intellect of Europe, the Bible 
found its shrine in her cathedrals, and its sanctuary 
in her cloisters:—there it took refuge, and was 
saved. Whilst savage conquerors did homage to 
the defenceless majesty of her pontiffs, and her 
sacred voice sounded above the din of battles, bring¬ 
ing order from the chaos of convulsed nations, pro¬ 
claiming the advent of a new social state, giving 
security to property, supremacy to law, dignity to 
woman, freedom to slave—during all that pain¬ 
ful birth-time of our modern world, the 
monks of old, holy and labourious, and un¬ 
selfish men—men like the monk you see before 
you, branded as a blasphemer of the new revelation 
of his Master—laboured by day and by night, in 
their cells and their scriptoria, and multiplied copies 
of the record of that revelation, adorning them with 
rare illumination and gorgeous blazonry, and per¬ 
petuating and diffusing them throughout the earth. 

And the scholars of those times were adepts in 
Holy Writ, for, as is testified by the Rev. Dr. Mait¬ 
land, the very learned librarian of the late Arch¬ 
bishop of Canterbury, “the writings of the dark ages 
are made of the scriptures * * * the writers 

thought, and spoke and wrote the thoughts, and 
words, and phrases of the Bible, and did this con¬ 
stantly and habitually as the natural mode of ex- 


Standard Literary Selections. 


237 


pressing themselves.” And men of action, then, 
who, abounding in literary knowledge, were rich in 
love and faith and knightly honour and Christian 
chivalry, vied with the scholar and the monk in deep 
reverence for the Word of God, and testified that 
reverence, as best they might, by lavishing their 
wealth upon it, and clothing it with silver, and gold, 
and precious stones, and placing it in the open library 
of the monastery, and beside the high altar of the 
church, that all might have free access to its divine 
teachings. Of the whole mediaeval time the learned 
Protestant, whom I have already cited, strongly 
says: “I do not recollect any instances in which it is 
recorded that the Scriptures, or any part of them, 
were treated with indignity or with less than pro¬ 
found respect.” So far, the Catholic Church did not 
prove herself the enemy of the Bible, when there 
was unity in Christendom, and none presumed to 
check the development of her true policy and the 
manifestation of her real spirit. She had no reason 
for subterfuge or management. She was supreme 
and unassailable, and, in her freedom and her power, 
she guarded that which, by excellence, she named 
“The Book,” through the gloom of ignorance, the 
fury of civil strife, the wreck of dynasties, and the 
revolutions of the world. So, and so only, the Bible 
was preserved, in the cloister and the school, and by 
the endless labours of devoted men, until printing 
came to give wings to thought and universality to 
knowledge. And how did the Catholic Church then 
deal with the Sacred Word? As if to consecrate 
the birth of the wondrous art, its earliest employ¬ 
ment of importance was devoted to the preparation 


238 Standard Literary Selections. 

of editions of the Scriptures, which, to this hour, 
are matchless in their splendour, and unequalled in 
their worth. The first great work undertaken after 
the invention of printing was the Holy Bible. The 
edito princeps of the Latin Vulgate, known among 
bibliographers as the “Mazarine Bible,” was issued 
before the practice of affixing dates to printed. 
works had arisen, certainly between 1450 and 1455 5 
and if, in the middle of the fifteenth century, this 
noble volume commanded the wondering approval 
of learned men, at the close of that century, the great 
Complutensian Polyglot, devised by the magnificent 
Ximenes, far more than eclipsed its fame. The 
presses of Europe teemed with editions of the Scrip¬ 
tures. France, Belgium, Italy and Spain were rich 
in them. Two hundred editions of the Vulgate ap¬ 
peared after the invention of printing, and before 
the completion of Luther’s Bible, and more than 
fifty editions in the vernacular tongues of the vari¬ 
ous nations were circulated during the same period. 
Surely these facts, and they are only a very few 
out of the multitude, demonstrate that the Catholic 
Church has not been the enemy of the Bible—has 
not regarded it with dislike or ■ apprehension—has 
been, through all time, its loving, earnest and revcr- 
- ent protector. 

—Lord O'Hagan. 


Standard Literary Selections. 239 


LESSON LXXill 

st. peter's church at rome 

But lo! the dome! the vast and wondrous dome, 
To which Diana’s marvel was a cell— 

Christ’s mighty shrine, above his martyr’s tomb! 

I have beheld th’ Ephesian’s miracle— 

Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell 
Th’ hyaena and the jackal in their shade'; 

I have beheld Sophia’s bright roofs swell 
Their glitt’ring mass i’ the sun, and have survey’d 
Its sanctuary, the while th’ usurping Moslem 
pray’d. 

But thou, of temples old, or altars new, 

Standest alone—with nothing like to thee; 
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 

Since Sion’s desolation, when that He 
Forsook His former city, what could be 
Of earthly structures in His honour piled, 

Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, 

Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all are aisled 
I11 this eternal ark of worship undefiled. 


Enter: its grandeur overwhelms thee not; 
And why? It is not lessened; but thy mind, 
Expanded by the genius of the spot, 

Has grown colossal, and can only find 
A fit abode, wherein appeared enshrined 



240 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Thy hopes of immortality; and thou 
Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, 

See thy God face to face, as thou dost now 
His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by His brow. 


Thou movest—but increasing with the advance, 
Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, 
Deceived by its gigantic elegance; 

Vastness which grows—but grows to harmonize 
All musical in its immensities; 

Rich marbles—richer painting—shrines where flame 
The lamps of gold—and haughty dome which vies 
In air, with earth’s chief structures, though their 
fame 

Sits on the firm-set ground, and this the clouds 
must claim. 

Thou seest not all; but piecemeal thou must break, 
To separate contemplation, the great whole; 

And, as the ocean many bays will make, 

That ask the eye—so here condense thy soul 
To more immediate objects, and control 
Thy thoughts, until thy mind hath got by heart 
Its eloquent proportions, and enroll 
In mighty graduations, part by part, 

The glory which at once upon thee did not dart. 

Not by its fault—but thine; our outward sense 
Is but of gradual grasp—and, as it is 
That what we have of feeling most intense 
Outstrips our faint expression ; even so this 
Outshining and o’erwhelming edifice 


Standard Literary Selections. 


241 


Fools our fond gaze, and, greatest of the great, 
Defies, at first, our nature’s littleness; 

Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate 
Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. 

Then pause and be enlighten’d; there is more 
In such a survey than the sating gaze 
Of wonder pleased, or awe, which would adore 
The worship of the place, or the mere praise 
Of art and its great masters, who could praise 
\\ hat former time, nor skill, nor thought could plan; 
The fountain of sublimity displays 
Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man 
Its golden sands, and learn what great concep¬ 
tions can. 

— Byron. 


LESSON LXXIV 

THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND 

O sacred Truth! thy triumph ceased awhile, 

And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, 
When leagued Oppression poured to northern wars 
Her whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars, 
Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet- 
horn ; 

Tumultuous horror brooded o’er her van, 

Presaging wrath to Poland—and to man! 



24 2 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Warsaw’s last champion from her height surveyed, 
Wide o’er the fields, a waste of ruin laid,— 

“O Heaven!” he cried, “my bleeding country save !— 
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave? 

Yet, through destruction sweep these lovely plains, 
Rise, fellow-men! Our country yet remains! 

By that dread name, we wave the sword on high 
And swear for her to live!—with her to die!” 

He said, and on the rampart-heights arrayed 
His trusty warriors, few, but undismayed; 
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form, 
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm; 

Low murmuring sounds along their banners fly, 
Revenge, or death!—the watchword and reply; 
Then pealed the notes, omnipotent to charm, 

And the loud tocsin tolled their last alarm!— 

In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few! 

From rank to rank your volley’d thunder flew:— 
Oh, bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 

Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime! 

Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 

Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered 
spear, 

Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career 
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell, 

And Freedom shrieked—as Kosciusko fell! 

The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there, 
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air— 

On Prague’s proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 

His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below; 


Standard Literary Selections. 


243 


The storm prevails, the rampart yields away. 
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay! 

Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, 
A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! 

Earth shook—red meteors flashed along the sky, 
And conscious Nature shuddered at the cry! 

* * * 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead! 

Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled! 

Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, 
Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van! 

Yet for Sarmatia’s tears of blood atone, 

And make her arm puissant as your own! 

Oh! once again to Freedom’s cause return 
The patriot Tell—the Bruce of Bannockburn. 

— Campbell. 


LESSON LXXV 

PERORATION TO THE INVECTIVE AGAINST 
WARREN HASTINGS 

Before I come to the last magnificent paragraph, 
let me call the attention of those who, possibly, think 
themselves capable of judging of the dignity and 
character of justice in this country; let me call the 
attention of those who, arrogantly perhaps, presume 
that they understand what the features, what the 
duties of justice are here in India;—let them learn 
a lesson from this great statesman, this enlarged, 
this liberal philosopher:—“I hope 1 shall not depart 



244 Standard Literary Selections. 

from the simplicity of official language in saying, 
that the Majesty of Justice ought to be approached 
with solicitation, not descend to provoke or invite 
it, much less to debase itself by the suggestion of 
wrongs, and the promise of redress, with the de¬ 
nunciation of punishment before trial, and even be¬ 
fore accusation.” This is the exhortation which Mr. 
Hastings makes to his counsel. This is the char¬ 
acter which he gives of British justice. 

But I will ask your lordships, do you approve 
of this representation? Do you feel that this is the 
true image of Justice? Is this the character of 
British Justice? Are these her features? Is this 
her countenance ? Is this her gate or mien ? No; 

I think even now I hear you calling upon me to 
turn from this vile libel, this base caricature, this 
Indian pagod, formed of guilty and knavish tyranny, 
to dupe the heart of ignorance—to turn from this 
deformed idol to the true Majesty of Justice here. 
Here , indeed, I see a different form, enthroned by 
the sovereign hand of Freedom—awful, without 
severity—commanding, without pride—vigilant and 
active, without restlessness or suspicion—searching 
and inquisitive, without meanness or debasement— 
not arrogantly scorning to stoop to the voice of 
afflicted innocence, and in its loftiest attitude when 
bending to uplift the suppliant at its feet. 

It is by the majesty, by the form of that Justice, 
that I do conjure and implore your lordships to give 
your minds to this great business; that I exhort you 
to look, not so much to words, which may be denied 
or quibbled away, but to the plain facts,—to weigh 
and consider the testimony in your own minds. We 


Standard Literary Selections. 245 

know the result must be inevitable. Let the truth 
appear, and our cause is gained. It is this—I con¬ 
jure your lordships, for your own honour, for the 
honour of the nation, for the honour of human na¬ 
ture, now entrusted to your care—it is this duty that 
the commons of England, speaking through us, 
claim at your hands. 

They exhort you to it by everything that calls 
sublimely upon the heart of man—by the Majesty 
of that Justice which this bold man has libelled—by 
this wide fame of your own tribunal—by the sacred 
pledge by which you swear in the solemn hour of 
decision, knowing that that decision will then bring 
you to the highest reward that ever blessed the 
heart of man—the consciousness of having done the 
greatest act of mercy for the world that the earth 
has ever yet received from the hands of heaven. My 
lords, I have done. 

— Sheridan. 


LESSON LXXVI 

THE TRAVELLER 

Remote, unfriendly, melancholy, slow, 

Or by the lazy Scheldt, or wandering Po; 

Or onward, where the rude Carinthian boor 
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door; 
Or where Campania’s plain forsaken lies, 

A weary waste, expanding to the skies; 
Where’er I roam, whatever realms to see 
My heart, untravell’d, fondly turns to thee; 



246 Standard Literary Selections. 

Still to my brother turns with ceaseless pain, 

And drags, at each remove, a lengthening chain, 
Eternal blessings crown my earliest friend, 

And round his dwelling guardian saints attend; 
Blest be that spot, where cheerful guests retire, 

To pause from toil, and trim their evening fire; 
Blest that abode, where want and pain repair, 

And every stranger finds a ready chair; 

Blest be those feasts, with simple plenty crown’d, 
Where all the ruddy family around 
Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail, 

Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; 

Or press the bashful stranger to his food, 

And learn the luxury of doing good. 

But me, not destined such delights to share— 

My prime of life in wand’ring spent, and care— 
My fortune leads to traverse realms alone, 

And find no spot of all the world my own, 

Ev’n now, where Alpine solitudes ascend, 

I sit me down a pensive hour to spend; 

And placed on high, above the storm’s career, 
Looked downward where a hundred realms appear 
Lakes, forests, cities, plains, extending wide, 

The pomp of kings, 'the shepherd’s humbler pride. 
When thus creation’s charms around combine. 
Amidst the store, should thankless pride repine? 
Say, should the philosophic mind disdain 
That good which makes each humbler bosom vain 
Let school-taught pride dissemble all it can. 

These little things are great to little man; 

And wiser he, whose sympathetic mind 
Exults in all the good of all mankind. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


24 7 


Ye glittering towns, with wealth and splendour 
crown’d; 

Ye fields, where summer spreads profusion round; 
Ye lakes, whose vessels catch the busy gale; 

Ye bending swains, that dress the flow’ry vale ; 

For me your tributary stores combine; 

Creation’s heir—the world, the world is mine! 

As some lone miser, visiting his store, 

Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o’er; 
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, 

Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still; 

Thus, to my breast alternate passions rise, 

Pleased with each good that Heav’n to man supplies ; 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 

To see the hoard of human bliss so small; 

And oft I wish amidst the scene to find 
Some spot to real happiness consign’d, 

Where my worn soul, each wand’ring hope at rest, 
May gather bliss to see my fellows blest. 

But where to find that happiest spot below. 

Who can direct, when all pretend to know? 

The shudd’ring tenant of the frigid zone 
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 

Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 

And his long nights of revelry and ease; 

The naked negro, panting at the line, 

Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 

Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave, 

And thanks his gods for all the good they gave; 
Such is the patriot’s boast—where’er we roam, 

His first, best country, ever is at home. 

— Goldsmith. 


248 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON LXXVII 

satan's address to the sun 

O THOU, that with surpassing glory crown'd 
Look’st from thy sole dominion like the god 
Of this new world!—at whose sight all the stars 
Hide their diminish’d heads!—to thee I call, 

But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 

O Sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, 

That bring to my remembrance from what state 
I fell, how glorious once above thv sphere; 

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, 
Warring in Heaven against Heaven’s matchless 
King: 

Ah! wherefore ? He deserved no such return 
From me, whom He created what I was 
In that bright eminence; and with His good 
Upbraided none; nor was His service hard. 

What could be less than to afford Him praise, 

The easiest recompense, and pay Him thanks, 

How due! Yet all His good proved ill in me, 

And wrought but malice; lifted up so high, 

I disdain’d subjection, and thought one step higher 
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit 
The debt immense of endless gratitude, 

So burdensome still paying, still to owe; 

Forgetful what from Him I still received; 

And understood not that a grateful mind 
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once 
Indebted and discharged; what burden then? 

Oh! had His pow’rful destiny ordain’d 


Standard Literary Selections. 


249 


Me some inferior angel, I had stood 
Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised 
Ambition! Yet why not? some other pow’r 
As great might have aspired; and me, though mean, 
Drawn to his part; but other pow’rs as great 
Fell not, but stand unshaken; from within 
Or from without, to all temptations arm’d. 

Hadst thou the same free will and pow’r to stand? 
Thou hadst; whom hast thou then or what to accuse, 
But Heaven’s free love dealt equally to all? 

Be, then, his love accursed! since, love or hate, 

To me alike, it deals eternal woe! 

Nay, cursed be thou! since, against His, thy will 
Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 

— Milton. 


LESSON LXXVIII 

THE EVIDENCES OF RELIGION 

When, from this centre of our religion, I cast 
my view in any direction, I behold an unbounded 
prospect, independent of any natural or political 
horizon. Under every climate, under every variety 
of government, I can discover myriads who daily 
recite the same act of faith, and perform the same 
acts of worship as myself; who look up to the same 
objects and institutions with reverence, and ac¬ 
knowledge the supreme power, under whose more 
immediate authority I now address you. I see on 
every side the missionaries of this religion advanc- 



250 


Standard Literary Selections. 


ing, from day to day, farther into unconquered terri¬ 
tories, treading the dark forests of the western hem¬ 
isphere, or distinguishing themselves in the populous 
cities of the East; in both directions daily adding 
new subjects to the kingdom of the Lord. I see 
this society, at once coherent and united, though 
vast and ever-extending, wherever it becomes 
known, instantly becomes distinguished and con¬ 
spicuous. 

Powerful monarchies, whose interests on ever 
other point seem necessarily to jar, boast that they 
only form integrant portions of its vast empire; 
men of daring, talent, and varied learning, who are 
eager on every other subject to frame new systems, 
or to distinguish themselves from others by the 
originality of their views, are docile as children to 
its doctrine, and fearful of differing in the least 
from the belief of the most ignorant among the 
faithful; bold and aspiring characters, nav, whole 
populations, jealous of their liberties, and impatient 
of almost the mildest restraint, bow to its yoke with 
cheerfulness, and glory in obedience to its com¬ 
mands, and even where it exists in a more depressed 
and humble state, it is still the object of universal 
attention and curiosity, from the splendour of its 
worship, the uniformity of its doctrines, and the 
constant increase of its members. 

And if, instead of directing my looks abroad 
for these characterizing marks, I cast an eye upon 
the ground whereon I stand, I find still more speak¬ 
ing evidence of their existence here, with the addi¬ 
tional quality which alone is wanting to designate 
fully the kingdom of Christ, all that demonstration 


Standard Literary Selections. 


251 


of an imperishable construction which centuries of 
duration can afford. For when I follow back, 
through every age, the ecclesiastical monuments 
which surround me, and find that they conduct me 
to the very foundation of the Christian Church; 
when I see myself kneeling before the very altars 
which a Sylvester annointed, and where a Constan¬ 
tine adored; above all, when standing in the sublim- 
est temple which the hands or even the imagination 
of men ever raised to his Creator, I behold myself 
placed, at once, between the shrine of the prince of 
the Apostles, and the throne of his successor in a 
direct lineal descent, and can thence trace with my 
eye almost every link which unites these two ex¬ 
tremes through the ashes that repose beneath the 
tombs and altars that surround me, oh! will any one 
ask me why I cling, with a feeling of pride and of 
affection, to the religion which alone carries me 
back to the infancy of Christianity, and unites, in 
unbroken connection, through ages of fulfilment and 
prophecy, the creed which I profess, with the in¬ 
spired visions of the earlier dispensations? 

—Cardinal Wiseman. 


LESSON LXXIX 

PART I—THE SISTER OF CHARITY 

She once was a lady of honour and wealth, 

Bright glow’d on her features the roses of health, 
Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold, 

And her motion shook perfume from every fold: 





252 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Joy reveird around her—love shone at her side, 

And gay was her smile, as the glance of a bride; 
And light was her step in the mirth-sounding hall, 
When she heard of the daughters of Vincent de 
Paul. 

She felt, in her spirit, the summons of grace, 

That called her to live for her suffering race; 

And heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home, 

Rose quickly, like Mary, and answered, “I come.” 
She put from her person the trappings of pride, 

And pass’d from her home with the joy of a bride, 
Nor wept at the threshold, as onward she moved,— 
For her heart was on fire in the cause it approved. 

Lost ever to fashion—to vanity lost, 

That beauty that once was the song and the toast—- 
No more in the ball room that figure we meet; 

But gliding at dusk to the wretch’s retreat. 

Forgot in the halls is that high-sounding name, 

For the Sister of Charity blushes at fame: 

Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth, 

For she barters for heaven the glory of earth. 

Those feet that to music could gracefully move, 
Now bear her alone on the mission of love; 

Those hands that once dangled the perfume and 
gem, 

Are tending the helpless, or lifted for them; 

That voice, that once echo’d the song of the vain, 
Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain; 

And the hair that was shining with diamond and 
pearl, 

Is wet with the tears of the penitent girl. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


253 


Her down-bed, a pallet—her trinkets, a bead; 

Her lustre—one taper, that serves her to read; 

Her sculpture—the crucifix nailed by her bed; 

Her paintings—one print of the thorn-crowned 
head; 

Her cushion—the pavement that wearies her knees; 
Her music—the psalm, or the sigh of disease: 

The delicate lady lives mortified there, 

And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer. 

Yet not to the service of heart and of mind, 

Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin con¬ 
fined. 

Like Him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief 
She hastes with the tidings of joy and relief. 

She strengthens the weary—she comforts the weak, 
And soft is her voice in the ear of the sick; 

Where want and affliction on mortals attend, 

The Sister of Charity there is a friend. 

Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breath, 
Like an angel she moves ’mid the vapours of death; 
Where rings the loud musket, and flashes the sword, 
Unfearing she walks, for she follows the Lord. 
How sweetly she bends o’er each plague-tainted face, 
With looks that are lighted with holiest grace; 

How kindly she dresses each suffering limb, 

For she sees in the wounded the image of Him! 

Behold her, ye worldly! behold her, ye vain! 

Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain; 
Who yield up to pleasure your nights and your 
days. 

Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise. 


254 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Ye lazy philosophers, self-seeking men— 

Ye fireside philanthropists, great at the pen. 

How stands in the balance your eloquence weigh’d 
With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid? 

— G. Griffin. 

PART II—PERNICIOUS READING 


A fire has blazed through Europe for more than 
a half century, and it threatens to set the whole 
world in flames before long. This fire arises in the 
minds and hearts of men ; it spreads by words; it 
communicates itself to whole nations; it burns at 
the foundations of states and at the roots of social 
order; it undermines thrones and altars, changes 
the earth into one immense volcano, and seems des¬ 
tined to destroy the world at last in one universal 
conflagration. Is it from hell that the first sparks 
of that flame have come forth? Yes; most cer¬ 
tainly. It is set on fire by hell. Have wicked men 
served as instruments to the powers of darkness, to 
diffuse and extend its ravages? Yes; most cer¬ 
tainly. Have the seditious and corrupting discourses 
of these men, their impious and furious declama¬ 
tions, been, as it were, the torches and brands with 
which they have set all around them on fire? Yes; 
the universe is a witness of their act; and they boast 
of it themselves; it is their tongue that has set the 
world in a blaze. But let us explain ourselves, my 
brethren. If they had nothing else to produce such 
disastrous effects except the tongue and voice which 
they have received from nature, the mischief which 


Standard Literary Selections. 


255 


they might cause would be very circumscribed, and 
of necessity limited to the narrow circle of hearers by 
whom they may be surrounded; they require an¬ 
other tongue which is far more powerful—a tongue 
which never tires—another voice much louder than 
their own—a voice which may be heard at the same 
time in every place—another mouth besides their 
own, which may ever open to circulate and vomit 
afar off the burning and ever succeeding waves of 
their calumnies and their blasphemy. This inde¬ 
fatigable tongue, my brethren, is their pen; this 
voice, which is everywhere heard, issues from their 
books; this mouth, which continually vomits forth 
the fiery torrent with which it covers the whole 
earth, is the press, which, at the present day, is so 
prolific, so criminal, so formidable to governments, 
to religion and morality. In plain language, bad 
books and their pernicious circulation are the fire 
which has come forth from the abyss—the fire 
which has caused such frightful devastation, and 
wrapped the two hemispheres in one destructive 
blaze. Bad books, multiplied almost to infinity— 
translated into every language—circulated with un¬ 
limited profusion throughout every country—filling 
every library—finding their way into every human 
habitation, from the rich man’s palace and the philos¬ 
opher’s closet to the labourer’s cottage, the trades¬ 
man’s workshop, and the poor man’s hut—corrupt¬ 
ing every age, every sex, every condition, every 
,people;—this is the zvorld of iniquity of which the 
apostle speaks, and which it is impossible to mis¬ 
take. Bad books, breathing revolution and war 
against the God of heaven and against all the lawful 


256 Standard Literary Selections. 

powers of this earth—disturbing the Church, the 
state, the private circle, and every other society of 
man —exciting and inflaming every violent and vin¬ 
dictive passion—provoking discord and wars, and 
the revolution of empires;—this is the unquiet evil 
which spreads universal agitation and terror, and 
no longer leaves any spot undisturbed throughout 
the world. Bad books, insulting truth and modesty 
at every page—teaching the science of evil, the de¬ 
testable trade of falsehood—perverting every in¬ 
tellect by their sophisms—defiling every imagina¬ 
tion with their lascivious descriptions—destroying 
the rising seeds of virtue in the heart, and planting 
every wickedness and abomination in their place; 
this is the source of the deadly poison which fills 
the whole world with infection and death. All the 
guilt which we see around us, and which we cannot 
too earnestly deplore—crimes the most unprece¬ 
dented and enormous, becoming ordinary events, 
which no longer occasion the least surprise—the 
most horrible catastrophes exhibited as daily spec¬ 
tacles to a cold curiosity which has now ceased to 
be excited by such atrocities, the eternal foundations 
of social order overturned—injustice converted into 
right—and licentiousness styled law—all that gen¬ 
erations have revered as sacred for the last six 
thousand years consigned to ridicule and con¬ 
tempt—the most monstrous paradoxes of libertin¬ 
ism and infidelity converted into maxims and doc¬ 
trines—morality abandoned, faith almost extin¬ 
guished, and the ties of humanity itself forgotten, 
these are the fruits of bad books—the new poi¬ 
soned branch which has sprung from the tree of 


Standard Literary Selections. 257 

knowledge, and which having, as it were, produced 
the fruit of a second original sin, has once more 
perverted and degraded the human race. 

—'Abbe McCarthy. 


LESSON LXXX 

WILLIAM TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS 

Ye crags and peaks, I’m with you once again ! 

I hold to you the hands you first beheld, 

To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
A spirit in your echoes answer me, 

And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
Again !—O sacred forms, how proud you look! 
How high you lift your heads into the sky! 

How huge you are, how mighty, and how free! 

Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose 
smile 

Makes glad—whose frown is terrible; whose forms, 
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 
Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty, 

I’m with you once again!—I call to you 
With all my voice!—I hold my hands to you 
To show they still are free. I rush to you 
As though I could embrace you! 

Scaling yonder peak, 

I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow, 

O’er the abyss: his broad expanded wings 
Lay calm and motionless upon the air, 

As if he floated there without their aid, 



258 Standard Literary Selections. 

By the sole act of his unlorded will, 

That buoyed him proudly up. Instinctively 
I bent my bow : yet kept he rounding still 
His airy circle, as in the delight 
Of measuring the ample range beneath, 

And round about; absorbed, he heeded not 

The death that threateped him.—I could not shoot— 

’Twas liberty! I turned my bow aside, 

And let him soar away! 

Heavens! with what pride I used 
To walk these hills, and look up to my God, 

And think the land was free. Yes, it was free— 
From end to end, from cliff to lake, ’twas free— 
Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks. 

And plough our valleys without asking leave; 

Or as our peaks that wear their caps of snow 
In very ^presence of the regal sun. 

How happy was I then! I loved 

Its very storms. Yes, I have often sat 

In my boat at night, when midway o’er the lake— 

The stars went out, and down the mountain-gorge 

The wind came roaring. I have sat and eyed 

The thunder breaking from his cloud, and smiled 

To see him shake his lightnings o’er my head, 

And think I had no master save his own. 

—On the-wild jutting cliff, o’ertaken oft 
By the mountain blast, I’ve laid me flat along; 

And while gust followed gust more furiously, 

As if to sweep me o’er the horrid brink, 

Then I have thought of other lands, whose storms 
Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just 
Have wished me therethe thought that mine was 
tree 


Standard Literary Selections. 


259 


Has checked that wish, and I have raised my head, 
And cried in thraldom to that furious wind, 

Blow ©n! This is the land of liberty! 

—/. S'. Knowles. 


LESSON LXXXI 

THE GLORY OF THE CROSS 

There appeared, in this world of misery and 
crime, a symbol of glory and virtue: in this world, 
where violence had enthroned itself by the side of 
slavery, a symbol of eternal justice and holy free¬ 
dom; in this world of incessant grief, a symbol of 
everlasting consolation. He who called himself the 
Son of Man, bequeathed the instrument of His pas¬ 
sion to mankind, and for eighteen centuries mankind 
have reverentially bent over that sacred legacy. 
Until His time, the rich and the powerful alone had 
standards and banners ; He gave one to the poor, and 
the rich and powerful flung aside theirs to adore it. 
The Cross of Christ has presided over all the desti¬ 
nies of the modern world; it is connected with all 
its adversities and all its glory. It has served as the 
basis of its laws, and as the standard of it armies. 
It hallowed the most showy magnificence of civili¬ 
zation and the most hidden emotions of piety. It 
has sanctified the palaces of emperors and the cabins 
of peasants. In every age and every country, man¬ 
kind have placed under its shelter all their glory and 
all their virtue. 

Having served as an ornament to our virgins 



26 o 


Standard Literary Selections. 


and a decoration to our warriors, it receives our 
expiring sighs, and at last covers our bier. Be¬ 
queathed by a dying God to His Church, it has 
passed from hand to hand, even to his Vicar of the 
present day, and for the two hundred and fifty- 
eighth time,* it has just been lifted, amidst countless 
blessings, above the city and the world. It was 
from the arms of the Cross that the world received 
the first lesson of that liberty which alone is real, 
of that equality which alone is possible. It is the 
summary of our history, the code of our duties, the 
guarantee of our rights, the emblem of our civiliza¬ 
tion, the proof of our freedom, the seal of our future 
destiny. —Count Montalembert. 

♦Written in the pontificate of Pius VII. 


LESSON LXXXII 

PART I-LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT 

Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom. 
Lead Thou me on! 

The night is dark, and I am far from home— 
Lead Thou me on! 

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene,—one step enough for me. 

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou 
Should’st lead me on. 

I loved to choose and see my path; but now 
Lead Thou me on! 

I loved the garish day, and spite of fears, 

Pride ruled my will: remember not past years. 




Standard Literary Selections. 261 

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still 
Will lead me on, - 

O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till 
The night is gone. 

And with the moon those angel faces smile 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. 

—Cardinal Newman. 

part 11—Wordsworth’s tribute to the blessed 

VIRGIN MARY 

Mother, whose virgin bosom was uncrossed 
With the least shade of thought to sin allied; 
Woman, above all women glorified, 

Our tainted nature’s solitary boast: 

Purer than foam on central ocean tossed, 

Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn 
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon 
Before her vane begins on heaven’s blue coast, 

Thy image falls on earth. Yet some, I ween, 

Not unforgiven, the suppliant knee might bend, 
As to a visible power, in which did blend, 

All that was mixed and reconciled in thee 
Of mother’s love with maiden purity, 

Of high with low, celestial with terrene. 

PART III—HOLY CROSS ABBEY 

Not dead, but living still and militant, 

With all things death-doom’d wrestling in con¬ 
quering war, 

More free for chains, more fair for every scar, 
How well, huge pile, that forehead gray and gaunt 
Thou lift’st our world of fleeting shapes to daunt! 


262 


Standard Literary Selections. 


The past in thee surviveth petrified: 

Like some dead tongue art thou, some tongue that 
died 

To live;—for prayer reserved, of flatteries scant. 
The age of Sophists takes on thee no hold: 

From thine ascetic breast no hollow jibe 
Falls flat, and cavil of the blustering scribe: 

Thine endless iron winter mocks the gold 
Of our brief autumns. God hath press’d on thee 
The impress of His own eternity. 

—Aubrey De Vere. 


LESSON LXXXIII 

THE COLISEUM BY MOONLIGHT 

The stars are forth, the moon above the tops 
Of the snow-shining mountains.—Beautiful! 

I linger yet with Nature,' for the night 
Hath been to me a more familiar face 
Than that of man; and in her starry shade 
Of dim and solitary loveliness, 

I learned the language of another world. 

I do remember me, that in my youth, 

When I was wandering,—upon such a night 
I stood within the Coliseum’s wall, 

’Midst the chief relics of almighty Rome; 

The trees which grew along the broken arches 
Waved dark in the blue midnight, and the stars 
Shone through the rents of ruin; from afar 



Standard Literary Selections. 263 

The watch-dog bayed beyond the Tiber; and 
More near from out the Caesar’s palace came 
The owl’s long cry; and, interruptedly, 

Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
Began and died upon the gentle wind. 

Some cypresses, beyond the time-worn breach, 
Appeared to skirt the horizon, yet they stood 
Within a bowshot,—where the Caesars dwelt, 

And dwell the tuneless birds of night, amidst 
A grove which springs through level battlements, 
And twines its roots with the imperial hearths; 

Ivy usurps the laurel’s place of growth;— 

But the Gladiator’s bloody Circus stands, 

A noble wreck in ruinous perfection! 

While Caesar’s chambers, and the Augustan halls, 
Grovel on earth in indistinct decay. 

And thou didst shine, thou rolling moon, upon 
All this, and cast a wide and tender light, 

Which softened down the hoar austerity 
Of rugged desolation, and filled up, 

As ’t were anew, the gaps of centuries; 

Leaving that beautiful which still was so, 

And making that which was not till the place 
Became religion, and the heart ran o’er 
With silent worship of the great of old!— 

The dead, but sceptred sovereigns, who still rule 
Our spirits from their urns. 

’Twas such a night! 

’T is strange that I recall it at this time; 

But I have found our thoughts take wildest flight 
Even at the moment when they should array 
Themselves in pensive order 


— Byron . 


264 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON LXXXIV 

THE GARDEN OF EDEN 

Eden stretched her line 
From Auran eastward to the royal towers 
Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings. 

Or where the sons of Eden long before 
Dwelt in Telassar: in this pleasant soil 
His far more pleasant garden God ordained: 

Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow 
All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste; 
And all amid them stood the tree of life. 

High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit 
Of vegetable gold; and next to life, 

Our death, the tree of knowledge, grew fast by, 
Knowledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill. 
Southward through Eden went a river large, 

Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill 
Passed underneath engulfed; for God had thrown 
That mountain as his garden-mould high-raised 
Upon the rapid current, which through veins 
Of porous earth with kindly thirst up-drawn, 

Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill 
Watered the garden; thence united fell 
Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, 
Which from his darksome passage now appears, 
And, now divided into four main streams, 

Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm 
And country, whereof here needs no account; 

But rather to tell how, if art could tel! 

How from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, 


Standard Literary Selections. 265 

Rolling on orient pearls and sands of gold, 

With mazy error under pendent shades 
Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed 
Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice art 
In beds and curious knots, but Nature’s boon 
Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, 
Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 
The open field, and where the unpierced shade 
Imbrowned the noontide bowers: thus was this 
place 

A happy rural seat of various views; 

Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and 
balm; 

Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, 
Hung amiable (Hesperian fables true, 

If true, here only) and of delicious taste: 

Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks 
Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, 

Or palmy hillock; or the flowery lap 
Of some irriguous valley spread her store, 

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose: 
Another side, umbrageous grots and caves 
Of cool recess, o’er which the mantling vine 
Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps 
Luxuriant; meanwhile murmuring waters fall 
Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake, 

That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned 
Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. 

The birds their choir apply; airs, vernal airs, 
Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune 
The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, 

Knit with the Graces and the Hours, in dance 
Led on the eternal Spring. — Milton. 


266 Standard Literary Selections. 

LESSON LXXXV 

the starry heavens 

Stars teach, as well as shine. 

This prospect vast,—what is it?—Weighed aright, 
’Tis Nature’s system of divinity, 

And every student of the night inspires: 

’T is elder Scripture, writ by God’s own hand. 

Why from yon arch,—that infinite of space, 
With infinite lucid orbs replete, 

Which set the living firmament on fire,— 

At the first glance, in such an overwhelm 
Of wonderful, on man’s astonished sight 
Rushes Omnipotence? To curb our pride. 

Our reason rouse, and lead it to that Power 
Whose love lets down these silver chains of light, 
To draw up man’s ambition to Himself, 

And bind our chaste affections to His throne. 

And see! Day’s amiable sister sends 
Her invitation, in the softest rays 
Of mitigated lustre;—courts thy sight, 

Which suffers from her tyrant brother’s blaze. 
Night grants thee the full freedom of the skies, 
Nor rudely reprimands thy lifted eye: 

With gain and joy, she bribes thee to be wise. 

Night opes the noblest scenes, and sheds an awe 
Which gives those venerable scenes full weight, 
And deep reception, in the entendered heart. 

This theatre!—what eye can take it in ? 

By what divine enchantment was it raised, 

For minds of the first magnitude to launch 
In endless speculations, and adore? 

One sun by day, bv night ten thousand shine, 


Standard Literary Selections. 267 

And light us deep into the Diety; 

How boundless in magnificence and might! 

Oh! what a confluence of ethereal fires, 

From urns unnumbered, down the steep of heaven, 
Streams to a point, and centres in my sight! 

Nor tarries there; I feel it in my heart: 

My heart, at once, it humbles and exalts; 

Lays it in dust, and calls it to the skies! 

Who sees it unexalted or unawed? 

Who sees it, and can stop at what is seen? 
Material offspring of Omnipotence! 

Inanimate, all-animating birth! 

Work worthy Him who made it!—worthy praise! 
All praise!—praise more than human ! nor denied 
Thy praise divine! 

But though man, drowned in sleep, 

Withholds his homage, not alone I wake; 

Bright legions swarm unseen, and sing, unheard 
By mortal ear, the glorious Architect, 

In this His universal temple, hung 
With lustres,—with innumerable lights. 

That shed religion on the soul; at once 
The temple and the preacher! Oh! how loud 
It calls Devotion!—genuine growth of Night! 

— Dr. Young. 


268 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON LXXXVI 

PART I-LETTER TO A SCIENTIFIC APOSTATE 

“You have been kind and generous to our old 
comrade,” adds the writer, “and he is grateful and 
will pray for you. And I, too, unworthy as I am, 
I will pray for you, since you wish it. Oh! what 
touching memories that word brings back to me. 
The sweetness of that Christmas night, those con¬ 
versations with you and Lallier, when, young and in 
love with nothing but truth, we conversed together 
on eternal things. Let me speak out, my friend. 
* * * Who knows ? Perhaps the moment is come 
to do so. You have sought, in the sincerity of your 
heart, to solve your difficulties, and you have not 
succeeded; but, my dear friend, the difficulties of 
religion are like those of science—there are always 
some that remain. It is a great thing to settle a few 
of them; no single life would suffice to exhaust them 
all. To decide all the questions that may arise about 
the Scriptures, one should know thoroughly all the 
Oriental languages. To answer all the objections 
of Protestants, one would require to study the his¬ 
tory of the Church in its minutest details, or rather 
the universal history of modern times. You never 
could, therefore, occupied as you are in other ways, 
answer all the doubts that your active and ingenious 
imagination is forever evoking for the greater tor¬ 
ment of your heart and mind. Fortunately God 
has not put certainty at such a price. What, then, 
are we to do? We are to do in religion as we do in 


Standard Literary Selections. 269 

science—satisfy ourselves of the proofs of a given 
number of truths, and then abandon the rest to the 
investigation of the learned. I believe firmly that 
the earth goes round. I know, nevertheless, that 
this doctrine has its difficulties, but astronomers ex¬ 
plain them, and, if they don’t explain them all, the 
future will do the rest. So it is with the Bible; 
it is beset with difficult questions. Some have been 
solved long ago; others, hitherto considered insolu¬ 
ble, have been answered in our own day; there re¬ 
main still many to be solved, but God permits this 
to keep the human mind on the alert, and to exer¬ 
cise the activity of future ages. 

“No! God cannot exact that religious truth, 
that is to say, essential food of every soul, should 
be the fruit of a long research, impossible to the 
great number of the ignorant, and difficult to the 
most learned. Truth must be within reach of the 
lowliest, and religion must rest upon evidence ac¬ 
cessible to the most insignificant. 

“For my own part, after experiencing many 
doubts, after having drenched my pillow many and 
many a night with tears of despair, I rested my faith 
upon an argument which any mason or coal-heaver 
may take hold of. I said to myself tnat since every 
people have a religion, good or bad, it is clear that 
religion is a universal, perpetual, and consequently 
legitimate want of humanity. God, who created this 
want, has consequently pledged Himself to satisfy 
it; there must, therefore, be a true religion. Now, 
amongst the multitude of creeds that divide the 
world, without going into the study or discussion of 
facts, who can doubt but that Christianity is su- 


270 


Standard Literary Selections. 


premely preferable, and the only one that leads man 
to his moral destiny? But again, in Christianity 
there are three Churches—the Protestant, the Greek, 
and the Catholic—that is to say, anarchy, despotism, 
and order. The choice is not difficult, and the truth 
of Catholicism requires no other demonstration. 

“This, my dear friend, is the brief chain of rea¬ 
soning which opened to me the doors of the faith. 
But once entered, I was suddenly illuminated with 
a new flood of light, and much more deeply con¬ 
vinced of the internal evidences of Christianity. By 
this I mean the daily experience which enables me 
to find in the faith of my childhood all the strength 
and light of my mature manhood, the sanctification 
of my domestic joys, the solace of all my troubles. 
If the whole earth were to abjure Christ, there is 
in the unutterable sweetness of our communion, in 
the sweet tears that it gives rise to, a force of con¬ 
viction that would suffice to make me cling to the 
Cross and defy the unbelief of the whole world. But 
I am far from such a trial, and, on the contrary, 
how powerful amongst men is the action of this 
faith in Christ, which is represented as dead! You 
do not know, perhaps, to what an extent the Saviour 
of this world is still loved, the virtues that He still 
evokes, the self-sacrifices, equal to the early ages of 
the Church, that He still inspires! I need only point 
to the young priests I see starting from the Semi¬ 
nary of Foreign Missions to go and die at Tonquin, 
as St. Cyprian and St. Irene did; to those converted 
Anglican ministers who give up splendid incomes 
to come to Paris to try to get bread for their wives 
and children by giving lessons, No! Catholicism 


Standard Literary Selections. 


271 


is not bereft of heroism in the days of Monseigneur 
Affre, nor of eloquence in the clays of Lacrodaire, 
nor of any kind of glory or authority in an age 
which has seen Napoleon, Royer Collard, and Cha¬ 
teaubriand die Christians 

—Frederic Ozanam. 


LESSON LXXXVII 

PART II-LETTER TO A SCIENTIFIC APOSTATE 

“Independently of this eternal evidence, I have 
been for the last ten years studying the history of 
Christianity, and every step I take in this direction 
strengthens my convictions. I read the Fathers, 
and I am filled with delight by the moral beauties 
they unfold to me, the philosophical lights with 
which they dazzle me. I plunge into the barbarous 
ages, and I see the wisdom of the Church and her 
magnanimity. I do not deny the disorders of the 
Middle Ages, but I have convinced myself that 
Catholic truth struggled single-handed against the 
evil, and evolved out of this chaos those prodigies 
of virtue and genius which we admire. I am pas¬ 
sionately enamoured of the legitimate conquests of 
the modern mind; I love liberty, and I have served 
it, and I believe that it is to the Gospel that we owe 
liberty, equality, and fraternity. I have had leisure 
and opportunity to study all these problems, and so, 
they were made clear to me. But I did not want 
this; and if other duties had hindered me from those 



272 


Standard Literary Selections. 


historical researches in which I found such intense 
interest, I should have reasoned about them as I 
do about exegetical studies, whose access is closed 
to me. I believe in the truth of Christianity; con¬ 
sequently, if there be any objections, I believe that 
sooner or later they will be explained. I believe 
even that some may never be explained, because 
Christianity treats of the relations of the finite with 
the infinite, and that we shall never understand the 
infinite. All that my reason has a right to exact is 
that I should not compel it to believe in the absurd. 
Now, there can be no philosophical absurdity in a 
religion which satisfied the intelligence of Descartes 
and Bossuet, nor any moral absurdity in a creed 
which sanctified St. Vincent de Paul, nor any phil¬ 
ological absurdity in an interpretation of Scriptures 
which satisfied the vigorous mind of Sylvester de 
Sacy. Certain men of modern times cannot bear 
the dogma of eternal punishment; they consider it 
inhuman. Do they fancy they love humanity more, 
and that they have a finer perception of the just and 
the unjust, than St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aqui¬ 
nas, St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Francis of Sales? 
It is not because they love humanity more; it is be¬ 
cause they have a less lively sense of the horror of 
sin and the justice of God! Oh! my dear friend, 
let us not waste our time in endless discussions. 
We have not two lives, one to search out the truth, 
and the other to practise it. This is why God does 
not need to be searched after. He reveals himself 
in this living Christian society which surrounds you; 
He is before your eyes; He urges you * * * You 
will soon be forty years of age; it is time you de- 


Standard Literary Selections. 


2 73 

cided. Yield to the Saviour, who is entreating you; 
give yourself up to Him as your friends have done, 
you will then find peace. Your doubts will vanish 
as mine vanished. You want so little to be an ex¬ 
cellent Christian! you want nothing but one act of 
the will; to believe is to will. Will once for all; 
will at the feet of a priest, who will call down the 
sanction of Heaven on your trembling act. Have 
but this courage, my friend, and the faith that you 
so admire in poor L., and which supports him un¬ 
der so great a misfortune, will add its untold sweet¬ 
ness to your prosperity.” 

—Frederic Ozanam. 


LESSON LXXXVIII 

THE FLAG AND THE CROSS 

Lift up the flag, yes, set it high beside yon gleaming 
Cross, 

Close to the standard of the cause that never shall 
know loss. 

Lift praising voice, life pledging hand; the world 
must hear and see 

The soldiers of the Cross of Christ most leal, dear 
flag, to thee. 

But wherefore speak of loyalty? Who fears a 
watching world? 

When have we flinched or fled from thee since first 
thou wert unfurled ? 

Carroll and Moylan spake for us, and Barry on the 
seas, 

And a third of thy sturdy cradle guard—no Arnold 
among these. 



274 Standard Literary Selections. 

And yet they call us aliens, and yet they; doubt our 
faith— 

The men who stood not with our hosts when test 
of faith was death; 

Who never shed a drop of blood when ours was 
shed like rain, 

That not a star should fall from thee nor thy great 
glory wane. 

O Meagher, Meade, and Sheridan; O rank and file 
as brave! 

Rise in your hundred thousands—rise, and shame 
the shallow knave. 

Yea, mine own graves, give up your dead, hearts 
strong in battle wild; 

Bleed with my blood, wide wounds, once more—I 
am a soldier’s child. 

Lift up the flag beside the Cross. Will freedom 
shrink to be 

Forever guarded by His sign who died to make us 
free? 

“In this sign shall ye overcome,” flamed forth from 
heaven of old; 

Yea, in the Cross the weak are strong, the fainting 
heart is bold. 

O mother State! O native land! O sacred flag! 
Again 

We pledge you sonship, yea, and sword, in sight of 
God and men. 

The Cross is seal upon our oath, which angels glo¬ 
rify, 

And, soldiers of the Cross of Christ, for you we’ll 
live and die. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


275 


LESSON LXXXIX 

PART I—CARACTACUS 

Close your gates, O priests of Janus! close your 
brazen temple gates! 

For the bold Ostorius Scapula invokes the peaceful 
fates 

And the brave Britannic legion at the Arch of Tri¬ 
umph waits. 

Bold Ostorius—home returning—for the island war 
is o'er; 

And the wild Silurian rebels shall arise in arms 
no more: 

Captive stands their savage monarch on the Tiber’s 
golden shore. 

Crowded are the banks of Tiber, crowded is the 
Appian way; 

And through all the Via Sacra ye may mark the 
dense array 

Of the tramping throngs who celebrate a Roman 
gala-day. 

Caractacus! Caractacus! Oh! full many a Roman 
child 

To its mother’s breast at midnight has been caught 
in terror wild, 

When some fearful dream of Britain’s chief her 
sleeping sense beguiled. 


276 Standard Literary Selections. 


Thrice in battle sank our eagles—shame that Ro¬ 
mans lived to tell! 

Thrice three years our baffled legions strove this 
rebel chief to quell: 

Vain were all our arms against him, till by treachery 
he fell. 

Now, behold, he is our captive! in the market-place 
he stands, 

And around him are the lictors and the stern Pre- 
torian bands— 

Stands he like a king among them, lifting high his 
shackled hands. 

Sure he sees the steel-clad cohorts, and he marks 
the lictors nigh, 

Yet he stands before the monarch with a glance as 
proudly high 

As if he, in truth, were Caesar, and’t were Claudius 
that should die. 

Gazes he o’er prince and people, with a glance of 
wondering light,— 

O’er the Rostra, o’er the Forum, up the Palatinian 
height, 

O’er the serried ranks of soldiers stretching far be¬ 
neath his sight. 

Tramping onward move the legions, tramping on 
with iron tread, 

While Ostorius, marching vanward, proudly bends 
his martial head— 

Proudly bends to the ovation, meed of those whom 
valour led. 


Standard Literary Selections. 277 

. tatue-like, in savage grandeur, stands the chief of 
Britain's isle; 

And his bearded lip is wreathing, as with silent 
scorn, the while, 

"Bold barbarian! dost thou mock us, mock us with 
that bitter smile? 

“Lo! thou standest in the Forum, where the stran¬ 
ger’s voice is free, 

Where the captive may bear witness—thus our Ro¬ 
man laws decree! 

Lift thy voice, O chief of Britons! Tis the Caesar 
speaks to thee! 

"Lift thy voice, O wondering stranger! thou hast 
marked our Roman state; 

All the terrors, all the glories, that on boundless 
empire wait! 

Boldly speak thv thought, O Briton, be it framed 
in love or hate!” 

—Bernard Barton. 


LESSON XC 

PART II—CARACTACUS 

Thus our monarch to the stranger. Then, from off 
his forehead fair, 

Backward, with a Jove-like motion, flung the chief 
his golden hair: 

And he said, “O king of Romans! freely I my 
thought declare. 



278 Standard Literary Selections. 


"Vanquished is my warlike nation, stricken by the 
Roman sword; 

Lost to me my wife and children, long have I their 
fate deplored; 

They are gone—but gloomy Hertha still enthrals 
their hapless lord. 

“Yet I murmur not, but wonder —wonder, as in 
Jotna dreams, 

At each strange and glittering marvel that before 
my vision gleams; 

At the blaze of Roman glory which upon my senses 
streams. 

“Romans! even as gods ye prosper, boundless are 
your gifts and powers! 

Ye have fields with grain o’erladen, gardens thick 
with fruits and flowers, 

Halls of shining marble budded, cities strong with 
battling towers. 

“I have marked your gorgeous dwellings and your 
works of wondrous art: 

Bridges high in air suspended, columned shrine, and 
gilded mart, 

And I marvelled—much I marvelled—in my poor 
barbarian heart. 

“For this day I saw your mighty gods beneath the 
Pantheon dome,— 

Gods of gold, and bronze, and silver,—and I mar¬ 
velled, King of Rome, 

That such wealthy gods should envy me my poor 
barbarian home!” 


Standard Literary Selections. 


279 


Ceased the chief, and on the pavement sadly sank 
his tearful eyes, 

And the wondering crowds around him held their 
breath in mute surprise; 

Held their breath—and then outbursting, clove the 
air with sudden cries: 


“Caesar, he hath spoken bravely! Claudius, he hath 
spoken well!” 

Not unmoved the brow of Caesar—it had lost the 
Claudian frown; 

And a tear upon his royal cheek is slowly trickling 
down: 

Never purer gem than Pity’s tear enriched a mon¬ 
arch’s crown! 

Yet he speaks in anger’s accents: “Ho! advance the 
fasces now ; , ; v, . 

Libtors! close ye round the scorner! Ha! barba¬ 
rian, smilest thou? 

There is one beneath whose glances even thy 
haughty soul shall bow!” 


Thus spoke Claudius, and the soldiers, opening 
round the curule chair, 

Half revealed a form majestic mid the lictors bend¬ 
ing there,— 

Half revealed a stately woman, mantled by her ra¬ 
diant hair. 


28 o 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Flashed the captive’s eye with sunlight; burned his 
cheeks with new-born life— 

Hope, and fear, and doubt, and gladness, held by 
turns their eager strife— 

Then two hearts and voices mingled, murmuring, 
“Husband!” answering, “Wife !” 

— Barton. 


LESSON XCI 

THE MIDDLE AGES 

We often think of, and represent to ourselves, 
the Middle Ages as a blank in the history of the hu¬ 
man mind—an empty space between the refinement 
of antiquity and the illumination of modern times. 
We are willing to believe that art and science had 
entirely perished, that their resurrection, after a 
thousand years’ sleep, may appear something more 
wonderful and sublime. Here, as in many other 
of our customary opinions, we are at once false, 
narrow-sighted, and unjust; we give up sub¬ 
stance for gaudiness, and sacrifice truth to effect. 
The fact is, that the substantial part of the knowl¬ 
edge and civilization of antiquity never was for¬ 
gotten, and that for very many of the be*t and no¬ 
blest productions of modern genius, we are entirely 
indebted to the inventive spirit of the Middle Ages. 
It is upon the whole extremely doubtful whether 
those periods which are the richest in literature, 
possess the greatest share either of moral excellence 



Standard Literary Selections. 281 

or political happiness. We are well aware that the 
true and happy age of Roman greatness long pre¬ 
ceded that of Roman refinement and Roman au¬ 
thors, and I fear there is but too much reason to 
suppose, that in the history of the modern nations 
we may find many examples of the same kind. But 
even if we should not at all take into our considera¬ 
tion these higher and more universal standards of 
the worth and excellence of ages and nations, and 
although we should entirely confine our attention to 
literature and intellectual cultivation alone, we ought 
still, I imagine, to be very far from viewing the 
period of the Middle Ages with the fashionable de¬ 
gree of self-satisfaction and contempt. If we con¬ 
sider literature, in its widest sense, as the voice 
which gives expression to human intellect—as 
the aggregate mass of symbols in which the 
spirit of an age or the character of a nation 
is shadowed forth; then, indeed, a great and 
accomplished literature is, without doubt, the most 
valuable possession of which any nation can boast. 
If, however, we allow ourselves to narrow the mean¬ 
ing of the word literature, so as to make it suit the 
limits of our own prejudices, and expect to find in 
all literatures the same sort of excellences and the 
same sort of forms, we are sinning against the spirit 
of all philosophy, and manifesting our utter igno¬ 
rance of all nature. Everywhere, in individuals as 
in species, in small things as well as in great, the 
fulness of invention must precede the refinements of 
art; legend must go before history, and poetry be¬ 
fore criticism. If the literature of any nation has 
had no such poetical antiquity before arriving at 


282 


Standard Literary Selections. 


its period of regular and artificial development, we 
may be sure that this literature can never attain to 
a national shape and character, or come to breathe 
the spirit of originality and independence. The 
Greeks possessed such a period of peotical wealth 
in those ages, certainly not very remarkable for 
their refinement either in literature, properly so 
called, or in science, which elapse between the Tro¬ 
jan adventures and the times of Solon and Pericles, 
and it is to this period that the literature of Greece 
was mainly indebted for the variety, originality, and 
beauty of its unrivalled productions. What this 
period was to Greece, the middle age was to modern 
Europe; the fulness of creative fancy was the dis¬ 
tinguished characteristic of them both. The long 
and silent process of vegetation must precede the 
spring; and the spring must precede the 
maturity of the fruit. The youth of individuals has 
been often called their spring-time of life; I imagine 
we may speak so of whole nations with the same 
propriety as of individuals. They also have their 
seasons of unfolding intellect and mental blossom¬ 
ing. The age of crusades, chivalry, romance, and 
minstrelsy, was an intellectual spring among all the 
nations of the West. 


— Schlegel. 


Standard Literary Selections. 283 


LESSON XCII 

ARRIVAL OF CATHOLIC MISSIONARIES AMONGST THE 
INDIANS 

O’er the water floating, flying, 

Something in the hazy distance, 

Something in the mists of morning, 

Loomed and lifted from the water, 

Now seemed floating, now seemed flying, 
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer. 

Was it Shingebis the diver? 

Or the pelican, the Shada ? 

Or the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah ? 

Or the white goose, Waw-be-wawa, 

With the water dripping, flashing 
From its glossy neck and feathers? 

It was neither goose nor diver, 

Neither pelican nor heron, 

O’er the water floating, flying, 

Through the shining mist of morning, 

But a birch canoe with paddles, 

Rising, sinking on the water, 

Dripping, flashing in the sunshine; 

And within it came a people 
From the distant land of Wabun, 

From the farthest realms of morning 
Came the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, 

He the Priest of Prayer, the Pale-face, 

With his guides and his companions. 

And the noble Hiawatha, 

With his hands aloft extended, 


284 Standard Literary Selections. 

Held aloft in sign of welcome, 

Waited, full of exultation, 

Till the birch canoe with paddles 
Grated on the shining pebbles, 

Stranded on the sandy margin, 

Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, 
With the cross upon his bosom, 

Landed on the sandy margin. 

Then the joyous Hiawatha 
Cried aloud and spake in this wise: 
“Beautiful is the sun, O strangers, 

When you come so far to see us! 

All our town in peace awaits you, 

All our doors stand open for you; 

You shall enter all our wigwams, 

For the heart’s right hand we give you. 

“Never bloomed the earth so gayly, 
Never shone the sun so brightly, 

As to-day they shine and blossom 
When you come so far to see us! 

Never was our lake so tranquil, 

Nor so free from rocks and sand-bars; 

For your birch canoe in passing 
Has removed both rock and sand-bar! 

“Never before had our tobacco 
Such a sweet and pleasant flavor, 

Never the broad leaves of our corn-fields 
Were so beautiful to look on, 

As they seem to us this morning, 

When you come so far to see us!” 

And the Black-Robe chief made answer, 
Stammered in his speech a little, 

Speaking words yet unfamiliar: 


Standard Literary Selections. 285 

“Peace be with you, Hiawatha, 

Peace be with you and your people, 

Peace of prayer, and peace of pardon, 

Peace of Christ, and joy of Mary!” 

Then the generous Hiawatha 
Led the strangers to his wigwam, 

Seated them on skins of bison, 

Seated them on skins of ermine, 

And the careful old Nokomis 

Brought them food in bowls of bass-wood, 

Water brought in birchen dippers, 

And the calumet, the peace-pipe, 

Filled and lighted for their smoking. 

All the old men of the village, 

All the warriors of the nation, 

All the Jossakeeds, the prophets, 

The magicians, the Wabenos, 

And the medicine-men, the Medas, 

Came to bid the strangers welcome; 

“It is well,” they said, “O brothers, 

That you come so far to see us!” 

In a circle round the doorway, 

With their pipes they sat in silence, 

Waiting to behold the strangers, 

Waiting to receive their message; 

Till the Black-Robe chief, the Pale-face, 

From the wigwam came to greet them, 
Stammering in his speech a little, 

Speaking words yet unfamiliar; 

“It is well,” they said, “O brother, 

That you come so far to see us!” 

Then the Black-Robe chief, the Prophet, 
Told his message to the people, 


286 Standard Literary Selections. 

Told the purport of his mission. 

Told them of the Virgin Mary, 

And her blessed Son, the Saviour, 

How in distant lands and ages 
He had lived on earth as we do; 

How he fasted, prayed, and labored; 

How the Jews, the tribe accursed, 

Mocked him, scourged him, crucified him ; 
How he rose from where they laid him, 
Walked again with his disciples, 

And ascended into heaven. 

And the chiefs made answer, saying: 

“We have listened to your message, 

We have heard your words of wisdom, 

W T t will think on what you tell us. 

It is well for us, O brothers, 

That you come so far to see us!” 

Then they rose up and departed 
Each one homeward to his wigwam, 

To the young men and the women 
Told the story of the strangers 
Whom the Master of Life had sent them 
From the shining land of Wabun. 

— Longfellow. 


LESSON XCIII 

DEPARTURE OF HIAWATHA 

From his place rose Hiawatha, 
Bade farewell to old Nokomis, 

Spake in whispers, spake in this wise, 



Standard Literary Selections. 


Did not wake the guests, that slumbered 
“I am going, 0 Nokomis, 

On a long and distant journey, 

To the portals of the Sunset, 

To the regions of the home-wind, 

Of the Northwest wind, Keewaydin. 

But these guests I leave behind me, 

In your watch and ward I leave them; 
See that never harm comes near them; 
See that never fear molests them, 

Never danger nor suspicion, 

Never want of food or shelter, 

In the lodge of Hiawatha !” 

Forth into the village went he, 

Bade farewell to all the warriors, 

Bade farewell to all the young men, 
Spake persuading, spake in this wise: 

“I am going, O my people, 

On a long and distant journey; 

Many moons and many winters 
Will have come, and will have vanished, 
Ere I come again to see you. 

But my guests I leave behind me; 

Listen to their words of wisdom, 

Listen to the truth they tell you, 

For the Master of Life has sent them 
From the land of light and morning!” 

On the shore stood Hiawatha, 

Turned and waved his hand at parting; 
On the clear and luminous water 
Launched his birch canoe for sailing, 
From the pebbles of the margin 
Shoved it forth into the water; 


288 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Whispered to it, “Westward ! westward!” 
And with speed it darted forward. 

And the evening sun descending 
Set the clouds on fire with redness, 

Burned the broad sky, like a prairie, 

Left upon the level water 

One long track and trail of splendor, 

Down whose stream, as down a river, 
Westward, westward Hiawatha 
Sailed into the fiery sunset, 

Sailed into the purple vapors, 

Sailed into the dusk of evening. 

And the people from the margin 
Watched him floating, rising, sinking, 

Till the birch canoe seemed lifted 
High into that sea of splendor, 

Till it sank into the vapors 
Like the new moon slowly, slowly 
Sinking in the purple distance. 

And they said: “Farewell for ever!” 
Said, “Farewell, O Hiawatha!” 

And the forests, dark and lonely, 

Moved through all their depths of darkness, 
Sighed: “Farewell, O Hiawatha!” 

And the waves upon the margin 
Rising, rippling on the pebbles, 

Sobbed: “Farewell, O Hiawatha!” 

And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah, 

From her haunts among the fen-lands, 
Screamed: “Farewell, O Hiawatha!” 

Thus departed Hiawatha, 

Hiawatha, the Beloved, 

In the glory of the sunset, 


Standard Literary Selections. 289 

In the purple mists of evening, 

To the regions of the home-wind, 

Of the Northwest wind Keewaydin, 

To the Islands of the Blessed, 

To the kingdom of Ponemah, 

To the land of the Hereafter! 

— Longfellow. 


LESSON XCIV 

ADVERSITY 

It was a high speech of Seneca (after the man¬ 
ner of the Stoics), that, “the good things which 
belong to prosperity are to be wished, but 
the good things that belong to adversity are 
to be admired.” Certainly, if miracles be the 
command over nature, they appear most in 
adversity. It is yet a higher speech of his 
than the other (much too high for a heathen), “It 
is true greatness to have in one the frailty of a man, 
and the security of a god.” This would have done 
better in poesy, where transcendencies are more al¬ 
lowed ; and the poets, indeed, have been busy with 
it; for it is in effect the thing which is figured in 
that strange fiction of the ancient poets, which 
seemeth not to be without mystery; nay, and to have 
some approach to the state of a Christian, “that 
Hercules, when he went to unbind Prometheus, (by 
whom human nature is represented), sailed the 
length of the great ocean in an earthen pot or 



290 


Standard Literary Selections. 


pitcher”; lively describing Christian resolution, that 
saileth in the frail bark of the flesh through the 
waves of the world. But to speak in a mean, the 
virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue of ad¬ 
versity is fortitude, which in morals is the more 
heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the 
Old Testament, adversity is the blessing of the 
New, which carrieth the greater benediction, and the 
clearer revelation of God’s favour. Yet, even in the 
Old Testament, if you listen to David’s harp, you 
shall hear as many hearse-like airs as carols; and 
the pencil of the Holy Ghost - hath laboured more in 
describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities 
of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears 
and distastes; and adversity is not without comforts 
and hopes. We see in needle-works and embroid¬ 
eries, it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon 
a sad and solemn ground, than to have a dark and 
melancholy work upon a lightsome ground: judge 
therefore, of the pleasure of the heart by the pleas¬ 
ure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious 
odours, most fragrant when they are incensed, or 
crushed: for prosperity doth best discover vice, but 
adversity doth best discover virtue. - : 

— Bacon. . 


Standard Literary Selections. 


291 


LESSON XCV 

STUDIES 

Studies serve for pastimes, for ornaments, for 
abilities ; their chief use for pastimes is in privateness 
and retiring; for ornaments in discourse; and for 
ability in judgment; for expert men can execute, but 
learned men are more fit to judge and censure. To 
spend too much time in them is sloth; to use them 
too much for ornament is affectation; to make 
judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a 
scholar; they perfect nature, and are themselves per¬ 
fected by experience; crafty men contemn them, 
wise men use them, simple men admire them; for 
they teach not their own use, but that there is a wis¬ 
dom without them and above them won by observa¬ 
tion. Read not to contradict “nor to believe, but to 
weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, 
others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed 
and digested.;. .that is, some are. to b<e.. read only in 
parts, others to be read, but not curiously, and some 
few to* be read wholly with diligence an<± attention. 
Reading maketh a full , man, conference-a: ready, 
and writing an exact man ; therefore, if a man write 
little, he hath need of a great memory; if he confer 
little, he had need have a present wit; and if he 
read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem 
to know that he doth not know. Histories make wise 
men; poets witty; the mathematics subtle; natural 
philosophy deep; moral grave; logic and rhetoric 
able to contend. Bacon , 



292 


Standard Literary Selections. 


APOPHTHEGMS FROM BACON 

One of the seven was wont to say, that laws were 
like cobwebs, where the small flies were caught, and 
the great break through. 

Cato the elder, what time many of the Romans 
had statues erected in their honour, was asked by one 
in a kind of wonder, why he had none? He an¬ 
swered, he had much rather men should ask and 
wonder why he had no statue, than why he had a 
statue. 

The same Plutarch said of men of weak abilities 
set in great place, that they were like little statues 
set on great bases, made to appear the less by their 
advancement. 


LESSON XCVI 

THE ART OF BOOK-MAKING 

I have often wondered at the extreme fecundity 
of the press, and how it comes to pass that so many 
heads, on which Nature seems to have inflicted the 
curse of barrenness, should teem with voluminous 
productions. As a man travels on, however, in the 
journey of life, his objects of wonder daily dimin¬ 
ish, and he is continually finding out some very sim¬ 
ple cause for some great matter of marvel. Thus 
have I chanced, in my peregrinations about this 
great metropolis, to blunder upon a scene which un- 




Standard Literary Selections. 


293 


folded to me some of the mysteries of the book¬ 
making craft, and at once put an end to my aston¬ 
ishment. 

I was one summer’s day loitering through the 
great saloons of the British Museum, with the list¬ 
lessness with which one is apt to saunter about a 
museum in warm weather; sometimes lolling over 
the glass cases of minerals, sometimes studying the 
hieroglyphics on an Egyptian mummy, and some¬ 
times trying, with nearly equal success, to compre¬ 
hend the allegorical paintings on the lofty ceilings. 
Whilst I was gazing about in this idle way, my at¬ 
tention was attracted to a distant door, at the end of 
a suit of apartments. It was closed, but every now 
and then it would open, and some strange-favored 
being, generally clothed in black, would steal forth, 
and glide through the rooms, without noticing any 
of the surrounding objects. There was an air of 
mystery about this that piqued my languid curiosity, 
and I determined to attempt the passage of that 
strait, and to explore the unknown regions be¬ 
yond. The door yielded to my hand, with all that 
facility with which the portals of enchanted castles 
yield to the adventurous knight-errant. I found 
myself in a spacious chamber, surrounded with great 
cases of venerable books. Above the cases, and 
just under the cornice, were arranged a great num¬ 
ber of black-looking portraits of ancient authors. 
About the room were placed long tables with stands 
for reading and writing, at which sat many pale 
studious personages, poring intently over dusty vol¬ 
umes, rummaging among mouldy manuscripts, and 
taking copious notes of their contents. A hushed 


294 


Standard Literary Selections. 


stillness reigned through this mysterious apartment, 
excepting that you might hear the racing of pens 
over sheets of paper, and occasionally the deep sigh 
of one of these sages, as he shifted his position to 
turn over the page of an old folio; doubtless aris¬ 
ing from that hollowness and flatulency incident to 
learned research. 

Now and then one of these personages would 
write something on a small slip of paper, and ring 
a bell, whereupon a familiar would appear, take the 
paper in profound silence, glide out of the room, 
and return shortly loaded with ponderous tomes, 
upon which the other would fall, tooth and nail, 
with famished voracity. I had no longer a doubt 
that I had happened upon a body of magi, deeply 
engaged in the study of occult sciences. The scene 
reminded me of an old Arabian tale, of a philoso¬ 
pher shut up in an enchanted library, in the bosom 
of a mountain, which opened only once a year ; 
where he made the spirits of the place bring him 
books of all kinds of dark knowledge, so that at 
the end of the year, when the magic portal once 
more swung open on its hinges, he issued forth so 
versed in forbidden lore as to be able to soar above 
the heads of the multitude, and to control the powers 
of Nature. 

My curiosity being now fully aroused, I whis¬ 
pered to one of the familiars, as he was about to 
leave the room, and begged an interpretation of the 
strange scene before me. A few words were suffi¬ 
cient for the purpose. I found that these mysterious 
personages, whom I had mistaken for magi, were 
principally authors, and were in the very act of 


Standard Literary Selections. 


295 


manufacturing books. I was, in fact, in the reading 
room of the great British Library, an immense col¬ 
lection of volumes of all ages and languages, many 
of which are now forgotten, and most of which are 
seldom read: one these sequestered pools of obso¬ 
lete literature to which modern authors repair, and 
draw buckets full of classic lore, or “pure English, 
undefiled,” wherewith to swell their own scanty 
rills of thought. 

Being now in possession of the secret, I sat down 
in a corner, and watched the process of this book 
manufactory. I noticed one lean, bilious-looking 
wight, who sought none but the most worm-eaten 
volumes, printed in black letter. He was evidently 
constructing some work of profound erudition, that 
would be purchased by every man who wished to be 
thought learned, placed upon a conspicuous shelf of 
his library, or laid open upon his table but never 
read. I observed him, now and then, draw a large 
fragment of biscuit out of his pocket, and gnaw; 
whether it was for his dinner, or whether he was 
endeavoring to keep off that exhaustion of the stom¬ 
ach produced by much pondering over dry works, 
I leave to harder students than myself to determine. 

There was one dapper little gentleman in bright- 
colored clothes, with a chirping, gossiping expres¬ 
sion of countenance, who had all the appearance of 
an author on good terms with his book-seller. 
After considering him attentively, I recognized in 
him a diligent getter-up of miscellaneous works, 
which bustled off well with the trade. I was curious 
to see how he manufactured his wares. He made 
more stir and show of business than any of the 


296 Standard Literary Selections. 

others ; dipping into various books, fluttering over 
the leaves of manuscripts, taking a morsel out of 
one, a morsel out of another, “line upon line, pre¬ 
cept upon precept, here a little and there a little.” 
The contents of his book seemed to be as hetero¬ 
geneous as those of the witches’ cauldron in Mac¬ 
beth. It was here a finger and there a thumb, toe 
of frog and blind worm’s sting, with his own gossip 
poured in like “baboon’s blood,” to make the medly 
“slab and good.” 

—Washington Irving. 


LESSON XCVII 
THE end of the year 

I was awakened by a hand taking mine, and 
opening my eyes, I recognized the doctor. After 
having felt my pulse, he nodded his head, sat down 
at the foot of my bed, and looked at me, rubbing his 
nose with his snuff-box. I have since learned that 
this was a sign of satisfaction with the doctor. 
“Well, so we worked old snub-nose to carry us off?" 
said M. Lambert, in his half-joking, half-scolding 
way. “What the deuce of a hurry we were in! It 
was necessary to hold you back with both arms at 
least!” “Then you gave me up, doctor?” asked I 
rather alarmed. “Not at all,” replied the old phy¬ 
sician. “We can’t give up what we have not got; 
and I made it a rule never to have any hope. We 
are but instruments in the hands of Providence, and 



Standard Literary Selections. 


297 


each of us should say with Ambroise Pore, ‘I tend 
him, God cures him V ” 

“May He be blessed, then, as well as you/' cried 
I, “and may my health come back with the New 
Year.” M. Lambert shrugged his shoulders. “Be¬ 
gin by asking yourself for it,” resumed he bluntly. 
“God has given it you, and it is your own sense, and 
not chance, that must keep it for you. One . would 
think, to hear people talk, that sickness comes upon 
us like rain or the sunshine, without one having a 
word to say in the matter. Before we complain of 
being ill, we should prove that we deserve to be 
well.” I was about to smile, but the doctor looked 
angry. “Ah! you think that I am joking,” resumed 
he, raising his voice, “but tell me, then, which of us 
gives his health the same attention that he gives his 
business? Do you economise your strength as you 
economise your money? Do you avoid excess and 
imprudence on the one side, with the same care as 
extravagance and foolish speculation on the other? 
Do you keep as regular account of your mode of 
living as you do of your income? Do you consider 
every evening what has been wholesome or un¬ 
wholesome for you, with the same care as you bring 
to the examination of your expenditures ? You may 
smile; but have you not brought this illness on 
yourself by a thousand indiscretions?” I began to 
protest against this, and asked him to point out these 
indiscretions. The old doctor spread out his fingers 
and began to reckon on them one by one. 

“Primo,” he said, “want of exercise. You live 
here like a mouse in a cheese, without air, motion 
or change. Consequently the blood circulates badly, 


298 


Standard Literary Selections; 


the fluids thicken, the muscles, being inactive, do 
not claim their share of nutrition, the stomach flags, 
and the brain grows weary. Secundo. Irregular 
food. Caprice is your cook; your stomach a slave 
who must accept what you give it, but who presently 
takes a sullen revenge, like all slaves. 

“Tertio. Sitting up late. Instead of using the 
night for sleep, you spend it in reading; your bed¬ 
stead is a bookcase, your pillow a desk. At the time 
when the wearied brain asks for rest, you lead it 
through those nocturnal orgies, and you are sur¬ 
prised to find it the worse for them the next day. 

“Quarto. Luxurious habits. Shut up in your 
attic, you insensibly surround yourself with a thou¬ 
sand effeminate indulgences. You must have a list 
for your door, a blind for your window, a carpet for 
your feet, an easy chair stuffed with wool for your 
back, your fire lit at the first sign of cold, and a 
shade to your lamp; and, thanks to all these precau¬ 
tions, the least draught makes you catch cold, com¬ 
mon chairs give you no rest, and you must wear 
spectacles to support the light of day. You thought 
you were acquiring comforts and you have only 
contracted infirmities. 

“Quinto”— 

“Oh! enough, enough, doctor!” cried I. 
“Pray do not carry your examination further; 
do not attach a sense of remorse to each of 
my pleasures.” The old doctor rubbed his nose 
with his snuff-box. “You see,” he said more gently 
and rising at the same time, “you would escape from 
the truth. You shrink from inquiry, a proof that 
you are guilty. But at least, my friend, do not go 


Standard Literary Selections. 299 

on laying the blame on Time, like an old woman. 
Thereupon he again felt my pulse and took his 
leave, declaring that his function was at an end and 
that the rest depended upon myself. 

—Emile Souvestre. 


LESSON XCVIII 
the end of the year (continued) 

When the doctor was gone, I set about reflecting 
on what he had said. 

Although his thoughts were too sweeping, they 
were not the less true in the main. How often 
we accuse chance of an illness, the origin of which 
we should seek in ourselves! Perhaps it would 
have been wise to let him finish the examination he 
had begun. 

But is there not another of more importance 

_that which concerns the health of the soul ? 

Am I so sure of having neglected no means of 
preserving that, during the year which is now 
ending? Have I, as one of God’s soldiers upon 
earth, kept my courage and my arms efficient? 
Shall I be ready for the great review of souls which 
must pass before Him who is in the dark valley of 
Jehoshaphat? 

Darest thou examine thyself, O my soul, and see 

how often thou hast erred? 

First, thou hast erred through pride; for I have 
not duly valued the lowly, have drunk too deeply of 



300 


Standard Literary Selections. 


the intoxicating wines of genius, and have found no. 
relish in pure water. I have disdained those words 
which had no other beauty than their sincerity; I 
have ceased to love men solely because they are 
men—I have loved them for their endowments; I 
have contracted the world within the narrow com¬ 
pass of a pantheon, and my sympathy has been 
awakened by admiration only. The vulgar crowd, 
which I ought to have followed with friendly eye 
because it is composed of my brothers in hope or 
grief, I have let pass by me with as much indiffer¬ 
ence as if it were a flock of sheep. I am indignant 
with him who rolls in riches and despises the man 
poor in worldly wealth; and yet, vain of my trifling 
knowledge, I despise him who is poor in mind. I 
scorn the poverty of intellect as others do that of 
dress. I take credit for a gift which I did not be¬ 
stow on myself, and turn the favour of fortune into 
a weapon with which to attack others. 

Ah, if, in the worst days of revolutions, igno¬ 
rance has revolted and raised a cry against genius, 
the fault is not alone in the envious malice of igno¬ 
rance, but comes in part, too, from the contemptu¬ 
ous pride of knowledge. Alas! I have too com¬ 
pletely forgotten the fable of the sons of the magi¬ 
cian of Bagdad. 

One of them, struck by an irrevocable decree of 
destiny, was born blind, whilst the other enjoyed 
all the delights of sight. The latter, proud of his 
own advantages, laughed at his brother's blindness, 
and disdained him as a companion. One morning 
the blind boy wished to go out with him. “To what 
purpose,” said he, “since the gods have put nothing 


Standard Literary Selections. 


301 


in common between us ? For me creation is a stage, 
where a thousand charming scenes and wonderful 
actors appear in succession; for you it is only an 
obscure abyss, at the bottom of which you hear the 
confused murmur of an invisible world. Continue, 
then, alone in your darkness, and leave the pleasures 
of light to those upon whom the day star shines.” 
With these words he went away, and his brother 
left alone, began to cry bitterly. His father, who 
heard him, immediately ran to him, and tried to con¬ 
sole him by promising to give him whatever he 
asked. 

“Can you give me sight?” asked the child. 
“Fate does not permit it,” said the magician. 
“Then,” cried the blind boy eagerly, “I ask you to 
put out the sun!” 

Who knows whether my pride has not provoked 
the same wish on the part of some one of my 
brothers who does not see. 

—Emile Souvestre. 


LESSON XCIX 

THE CARNIVAL 

February 20th. What a noise out of doors! 
What is the meaning of those shouts and cries? 
Oh! I recollect, this is the last day of the carnival, 
and the maskers are passing. Christianity has not 
been able to abolish the noisy bacchanalian festivals 
of pagan times, but it has changed the names, That 



302 Standard Literary Selections. 

which it has given to these “days of liberty” an¬ 
nounces the ending of the feasts, and the month of 
fasting which should follow. “ Carn-a-val ” means 
literally, “down with flesh meat ” It is a forty days’ 
farewell to the “blessed pullets and fat hens,” so 
celebrated by Pantagruel’s minstrel. Man prepares 
for privation by satiety, and finishes his sin thor¬ 
oughly before he begins to repent. Why, in all ages 
and among every people, do we meet with some oiie 
of those mad festivals? Must we believe that it 
requires such an effort for men to be reasonable, 
that the weaker ones have need of rest at intervals ? 
The monks of La Trappe, who are condemned to 
silence by their rule, are allowed to speak once in a 
month, and on this day they all talk at once from 
the rising to the setting of the sun. Perhaps it is 
the same in the world. As we are obliged all the 
year to be decent, orderly and reasonable, we make 
up for such a long restraint during the carnival. 
It is a door opened to the incongruous fancies and 
wishes which have hitherto been crowded back into 
a corner of the brain. For a moment the slave be¬ 
comes the master, as in the days of the Saturnalia, 
and everything is given up to the “fools of the 
family.” ?.Z-Z 

The shouts in the square redouble; the troops 
of masks increase—on foot, in carriages, and on 
horseback. It is now who can attract the most at¬ 
tention by making a figure for a few hours, or by 
exciting curiosity or envy. To-morrow they will all 
return, dull and exhausted, to the employments 
and troubles of yesterday. Alas! thought I with 
vexation, each of us is like these masqueraders, 



Standard Literary Selections. 303 

our whole life is often but an unsightly carnival! 
And yet man has need of holidays to relax his 
mind, rest his body, and open his heart. Can he 
not have them, then, without these coarse pleasures ? 
Economists have been long enquiring what is the 
best disposal of the industry of the human race. 
Ah! if I could only discover the best disposal of its 
leisure! It is easy enough to find it work, but who 
will find it relaxation? Work supplies the daily 
bread, but it is cheerfulness which gives it relish. 
O philosophers! go in quest of pleasure! find us 
amusement without brutality, enjoying without self¬ 
ishness ; in a word, invent a carnival which will 
please everybody and bring shame to no one. 

Three o'clock—l ha.ve just shut my window and 
stirred up my fire. As this is a holiday for every¬ 
body, I will make it one for myself, too. So I lit the 
little lamp over which, on grand occasions, I make 
a cup of the coffee that my portress’s son brought 
from the Levant, and I look in my book-case for one 
of my favorite authors. 

*: —E mile S0 uvestre. 


LESSON C 

DIES IRM 

On that great, that awful day, 
This vain world shall pass away, 
Thus the sibyl song of old, 

Thus hath Holy David told. 




304 


Standard Literary Selections. 


There shall be a deadly fear, 

When the Avenger shall appear, 

And unveiled before his eye 
All the works of man shall lie. 

Hark! to the great trumpet’s tones 
Pealing o’er the place of bones; 

Hark! it waketh from their bed 
All the nations of the dead,— 

In a countless throng to meet, 

At the eternal judgment seat. 

Nature sickens with dismay, 

Death may not retain his prey; 

And before the Maker stand 
All the creatures of His hand; 

The great book shall be unfurled, 
Whereby God shall judge the world, 
What was distant shall be near, 

What was hidden shall be clear. 

To what shelter shall I fly? 

To what guardian shall I cry? 

Oh, in that destroying hour, 

Source of goodness, source of power, 
Show Thou of Thine own free grace, 
Help unto a helpless race. 

Though I plead not at thy throne, 
Aught that I for Thee have done. 

Do not Thou unmindful be, 

Of what Thou hast borne for me; 

Of the wandering, of the scorn, 

Of the scourge, and of the thorn. 
Jesus, hast Thou borne the pain, 

And hath all been borne in vain? 

Shall Thy vengeance smite the head. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


305 


For whose ransom Thou hast bled? 

Thou, whose dying blessing gave 
Glory to a guilty slave. 

Thou who from the crew unclean 
Did’st release the Magdalene; 

Shall not mercy vast and free 
Evermore be found in Thee? 

Father turn on me thine eyes, 

See my blushes, hear my cries; 

Faint though be the cries I make, 

Love me for Thy mercy’s sake; 

From the worm and from the fire, 

From the torment of Thine ire; 

Fold me with the sheep that stand 
Pure and safe at Thy right hand ; 

Hear Thy guilty child implore Thee, 

Rolling in the dust before thee; 

Oh, the horrors of that day! 

When this frame of sinful clay, 

Starting from its burial place, 

Must behold Thee face to face; 

Hear and pity, hear and aid, 

Spare the creatures Thou hast made; 
Mercy, mercy, save, forgive, 

Oh! who shall look on Thee and live? 

—Translated by Macaulay. 


306 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON Cl 

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER 

(Part i) 

A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged 
Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged; 

Without unspotted, innocent within, 

She feared no danger, for she knew no sin. 

Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds, 
And Scythian shafts and many winged wounds 
Aim’d at her heart, was often forced to fly, 

And doom’d to death, though fated not to die. 

Not so her young: for their unequal line 
Was hero’s make, half human, hall divine. 

Their earthly mould obnoxious was to fate, 

The immortal past assumed immortal state. 

Of these a slaughter’d army lay in blood, 

Extended o’er the Caledonian wood, 

Their native walk; whose vocal blood arose, 

And cried for pardon on their perjured foes. 

Their fate was fruitful, and the sanguine seed, 
Endued with souls, increased the sacred breed. 

So captive Israel multiplied in chains, 

A numerous exile, and enjoy’d her pains. 

With grief and gladness mix’d, the mother view’d 
Her martyr’d offspring, and their race renew’d; 
Their corpse to perish, but their kind to last, 

So much the deathless plant the dying fruit sur¬ 
pass’d. 

Panting and pensive now she ranged alone, 

And wander’d in the kingdoms once her own. 


Standard Literary Selections. 307 

The common hunt, though from her rage restrain'd 
By sovereign power, her company disdain’d; 

Grinn’d as they pass’d, and with a glaring eye 
Gave gloomy signs of secret enmity. 

’Tis true she bounded bv, and tripp’d so light, 

They had not time to take a steady sight. 

For truth has such a face and such a mien, 

As to be loved needs only to be seen. 

The bloody Bear, an independent beast, 

Unlick’d to form, in groans her hate express’d. 
Among the timorous kind the quaking Hare 
Profess’d neutrality, but would not swear. 

Next her the buffoon Ape, as atheists use, 

Mimic’d all sects, and had his own to choose: 

Still when the Lion look’d, his knees he bent, 

And paid at church a courtier’s compliment. 

The bristled Baptist Boar, impure as he 
(But whiten’d with the foam of sanctity,) 

With fat pollutions fill’d the sacred place, 

And mountains levell’d in his furious race; 

So first rebellion founded was in grace. 

But since the mighty ravage which he made 
In German forests, had his guilt betray’d, 

With broken tusks, and with a borrow’d name, 

He shunn’d the vengeance, and conceal’d the shame; 
So lurk’d in sects unseen. With greater guile 
False Reynard fed on consecrated spoil: 

The graceless beast by Athanasius first 

Was chased from Nice! then by Socinus nursed, 

His impious race their blasphemy renew’d, 

And nature’s King through nature’s optics view’d. 
Revers’d they view’d him lessen’d to their eye> 
Nor in an infant could a god descry : 


308 Standard Literary Selections. 

New swarming sects to this obliquely tend, 

Hence they began, and here they all will end. 

What weight of ancient witness can prevail, 

If private reason hold the public scale? 

But, gracious God! how well dost Thou provide 
For erring judgments an unerring guide! 

Thy throne is darkness in the abyss of light, 

A blaze of glory that forbids the sight. 

Oh, teach me to believe Thee thus conceal’d, 

And search no further than Thyself revealed; 

But her alone for my director take, 

Whom Thou hast promised never to forsake! 

My thoughtless youth was wing’d with vain desires; 
My manhood, long misled by wandering fires, 
Follow’d false lights; and, when their glimpse was 
gone, 

My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. 
Such was I, such by nature still I am; 

Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame. 

Good life be now my task: my doubts are gone: 
What more could fright my faith, than Three in 
One? 

Can I believe Eternal God could lie 
Disguised in mortal mould and infancy? 

That the great Maker of the world could die? 

And after that, trust my imperfect sense, 

Which calls in question His omnipotence? 

Can I my reason to my faith compel ? 

And shall my sight, and touch, and taste, rebel? 
Superior faculties are set aside; 

Shall their subservient organs be my guide?. 

Then let the moon usurp the rule of day, 

And winking tapers show the sun his way; 


Standard Literary Selections. 


309 


For what my senses can themselves perceive, 

I need no revelation to believe. 

Can they who say the Host should be descried 
By sense, define a body glorified? 

Impassable, and penetrating parts? 

Let them declare by what mysterious arts 
He shot that body through the opposing might 
Of bolts and bars impervious to the light, 

And stood before His train confess’d in open sight 
For since thus wonderously he pass’d, ’tis plain 
One single place two bodies did contain. 

And sure the same omnipotence as well 
Can make one body in more places dwell. 

Let reason then at her own quarry fly, 

But how can finite grasp Infinity? 

—John Dryden. 


LESSON CII 

THE HIND AND THE PANTHER 

(Part 2) 

*Tis urged again, that faith did first commence 
By miracles, which are appeals to sense, 

And thence concluded, that our sense must be 
The motive still of credibility. 

For latter ages must on former wait, 

And what began belief, must propogate. 

But winnow well this thought, and you shall find 
’Tis light as chaff that flies before the wind. 



3.io Standard Literary Selections. 

Were all those wonders wrought by power divine, 
As means or ends of some more deep design ? 

Most sure as means, whose end was this alone, 

To prove the Godhead of the Eternal Son. 

God thus asserted, man is to believe 
Beyond what sense and reason can conceive, 

And for mysterious things of faith rely 
On the proponent, Heaven’s authority. 

If then our faith we for our guide admit, 

Vain is the farther search of human wit, 

As when the building gains a surer stay. 

We take the unuseful scaffolding away. 

Reason by sense no more can understand; 

The game is played into another hand; 

Why choose we then, like bilanders, to creep 
Along the coast, and land in view to keep, 

When safely we may launch into the deep ? 

In the same vessel which our Saviour bore, 

Himself the pilot, lelms leave the shore, 

And with a better guide a better world explore. 
Could He His Godhead veil with flesh and blood, 
And not veil these again to be our food ? 

His grace in. both is equal in. extent; mi: 

The first affords us life, the second nourishment. 
And if we can, why all this frantic pain 
To construe what His clearest words contain, 

And make a riddle what He made so plain ? 

To take up hall on trust, and half to try,' 

Name it not faith, but bungling bigotry. 

Both knave and fool the merchant we may call, 

To pay great sums and to compound the small: 
For who would break with Heaven, and would mot 
break for all ? .. .. .' ;. 



Standard Literary Selections. 31 i 

Rest then, my soul, from endless anguish freed: 
Nor sciences thy guide, nor sense thy creed. 

Faith is the best ensurer of thy bliss; 

The bank above must fail before the venture miss. 

—John Dryden. 


LESSON CIII 

RELIGIO LAIC I 

Dim as4he borrow’d beams of moon and stars 
To lonely, weary, wandering travellers, 

Is Reason to the soul: and as on high 
Those rolling fires discover but the sky, 

Not light us here; so Reason’s glimmering ray 
Was lent, not to assure our doubtful way, 

But guide us upward to a better day. 

And as those nightly tapers disappear, 

When day’s bright lord ascends our hemisphere; 

So pale grows Reason at Religion’s sight; 

So dies, and so dissolves in supernatural light. 

Some few, whose lamp shone brighter, have been 
led 

From cause to cause to nature’s secret head; 

And found that one first principle must be: 

But what, or who, that universal he; 

Whether some soul encompassing this ball, 
Unmade, unmoved; yet making, moving all; 

Or various atoms’ interfering dance 
Leap’d into form, the noble work of chance; 

Or this great all was from eternity; 



312 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Not even the Stagirite himself could see: 

And Epicurus guess’d as well as he. 

As blindly groped they for a future state 
As rashly judged of providence and fate; 

But least of all could their endeavours find 
What most concern’d the good of human kind; 

For happiness was never to be found, 

But vanished from ’em like enchanted ground. 

One thought Content the good to be enjoy’d; 

This every little accident destroy’d: 

The wiser madman did for Virtue toil, 

A thorny or at best a barren soil: 

In Pleasure some their glutton souls would steep, 
But found their line too short, the well too deep; 
And leaky vessels which no bliss could keep. 

Thus anxious thoughts in endless circles roll, 
Without a centre where to fix the soul: 

In this wild maze their vain endeavours end: 

How can the less the greater comprehend? 

Or finite reason reach Infinity ? 

For what could fathom God were more than He. 

The Deist thinks he stands on firmer ground; 
Cries, Eureka—the mighty secret’s found: 

God is that spring of good; supreme, and blest; 
We, made to serve, and in that service blest: 

If so, some rules of worship must be given, 
Distributed alike to all by Heaven; 

Else God were partial, and to some denied 
The means his justice should for all provide. 

This general worship is to praise and pray: 

One part to borrow blessings, one to pay: 

And when frail nature slides into offence, 

The sacrifice for crimes is penitence. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


313 


Yet since the effects of Providence, we find, 

Are variously dispensed to human kind; 

That vice triumphs, and virtue suffers here, 

A brand that sovereign justice cannot bear; 

Our reason prompts us to a future state; 

The last appeal from fortune and from fate; 

Where God’s all-righteous ways shall be declared; 
The bad meet punishment, the good reward. 

Thus man by his own strength to Heaven would 
soar, 

And would not be obliged to God for more. 

Vain, wretched creature, how art thou misled 
To think thy wit these god-like notions bred! 

These truths are not the product of thy mind, 

But dropp’d from Heaven, and of a nobler kind. 
Revealed Religion first inform’d thy sight, 

And reason saw not, till Faith sprung the light. 
Hence all thy natural worship takes the source; 

’Tis revelation that thou think’st discourse: 

Else how com’st thou to see these truths so clear, 
Which so obscure to heathens did appear? 

Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found: 

Nor he whose wisdom oracles renown’d. 

Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime, 

Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb ? 

Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know 
Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero? 

Those giant wits in happier ages born, 

(When arms and art did Greece and Rome adorn,) 
Knew no such system; no such piles could raise 
Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise 
To one sole God. 

Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe: 


3 T4 Standard Literary Selections. 

But slew their fellow-creatures for. a bribe: 

The guiltless victim groan’d for their offence; 

And cruelty and blood was penitence. 

If sheep and oxen could atone for men, 

Ah! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin; 

And great oppressors might Heaven’s wrath beguile 
By offering his own creatures for a spoil! 

—John Dryden. 


LESSON CIV 

THE CHINESE PHILOSOPHER IN ENGLAND 

From the funeral solemnities of the Daures. 
who) think themselves the politest people in the 
world, I must take a transition to the funeral solem¬ 
nities of the English, who think themselves as polite 
as they. The numberless ceremonies which are used 
here when a person is sick, appear to me so many 
evident marks of fear and apprehension. Ask an 
Englishman, however, whether he is afraid of death, 
and he boldly answers in the negative; but observe 
his behaviour in circumstances of approaching sick¬ 
ness, and you will find his actions give his asser¬ 
tions the lie. 

The Chinese are very sincere in this respect; 
they hate to die, and they confess their terrors; a 
great part of their life is spent in preparing things 
proper for their funeral. A poor artisan shall spend 
half his income in providing himself a tomb twenty 
years before he wants it, and denies himself the 



Standard Literary Selections. 315 

necessaries of life, that he may be amply provided 
for when he shall want them no more. 

But people of distinction in England really de¬ 
serve pity, for they die in circumstances of the most 
extreme distress. It is an established rule, never to 
let a man know that he is dying; physicians are 
sent for, the clergy are called, and everything passes 
in silent solemnity round the sickbed. The patient 
is in agonies,, looks round for pity, yet not a single 
creature will say that he is dying. If he is pos¬ 
sessed of fortune, his relations entreat him to make 
his will, as it may restore the tranquillity of his 
mind. He is desired to undergo the rites of the 
Church, for decency requires it. His friends take 
their leave only because they do not care to see him 
in pain. In short, a hundred strategems are used 
to make him do what he might have been induced 
to perform only by being told, Sir, you are past all 
hopes, and had as good think decently of dying. 

Besides all this, the chamber is darkened, the 
whole house echoes to the cries of the wife, the lam¬ 
entations of the children, the grief of the servants, 
and the sighs of friends. The bed is surrounded 
with priests and doctors in black, and only flam¬ 
beaux emit a yellow gloom. Where is the man, how 
intrepid soever, that would not shrink at such a 
hideous solemnity? For fear of affrighting their 
expiring friends, the English practise all that can 
fill them with terror. Strange effect of human prej¬ 
udice, thus to torture, merely from mistaken ten¬ 
derness ! 

You see, my friend, what contradictions there 
are in the tempers of those islanders: when 


316 Standard Literary Selections. 

prompted by ambition, revenge, or disappointment, 
they meet death with the utmost resolution: the 
very man who in his bed would have trembled at 
the aspect of a doctor, shall go with intrepidity to 
attack a bastion, or deliberately noose himself up in 
garters. 

The passion of the Europeans for magnificent 
interments, is equally strong with that of the Chin¬ 
ese. When a tradesman dies, his frightful face is 
painted up by an undertaker, and placed in a proper 
situation to receive company: this is called lying in 
state. To this disagreeable spectacle, all the idlers 
in town flock, and learn to loathe the wretch dead, 
whom they despised when living. In this manner, 
you see some would have refused a shilling to save 
the life of their dearest friend, bestow thousands on 
adorning their putrid corpse. I have been told of 
a fellow, who, grown rich by the price of blood, 
left it in his will that he should lie in state; and thus 
unknowingly gibbeted himself into infamy, when he 
might have, otherwise, quietly retired into oblivion. 

When the person is buried, the next care is to 
make his epitaph: they are generally reckoned best 
which flatter most; such relations, therefore, as 
have received most benefits from the defunct, dis¬ 
charge this friendly office, and generally flatter in 
proportion to their joy. When we read those mon¬ 
umental histories of the dead, it may be justly said, 
that all men are equal in the dust; for they all 
appear equally remarkable for being the most sin¬ 
cere Christians, the most benevolent neighbors, 
and the honestest men of their time. To go through 


Standard Literary Selections. 317 

a European cemetery, one would be apt to wonder 
how mankind could have so basely degenerated 
from such excellent ancestors. Every tomb pre¬ 
tends to claim your reverence and regret: some arc 
praised for piety in those inscriptions who never 
entered the temple until they were dead; some are 
praised for being excellent poets, who were never 
mentioned, except for their dulness, when living; 
others for sublime orators, who were never noted 
except for their impudence; and others still, for 
military achievements, who were never in any other 
skirmishes but with the watch. Some even make 
epitaphs for themselves, and bespeak the reader’s 
good-will. It were indeed to be wished that every 
man would early learn in this manner to make his 
own; that he would drawn it up in terms as flatter¬ 
ing as possible, and that he would make it the em¬ 
ployment of his whole life to deserve it. 

I have not yet been in a place called Westmin¬ 
ster Abbey, but soon intend to visit it. There, I 
am told, I shall see justice done to deceased merit; 
none, I am told, are permitted to be buried there, 
but such as have adorned as well as improved man¬ 
kind. There, no intruders, by the influence of 
friends or fortune, presume to mix their unhal¬ 
lowed ashes with philosophers, heroes, and poets. 
Nothing but true merit has a place in that awful 
sanctuary. The guardianship of the tombs is com¬ 
mitted to several reverend priests, who are never 
guilty, for a superior reward, of taking down the 
names of good men, to make room for others of 
equivocal character, nor ever profane the sacred 


318 Standard Literary Selections. 

walls with pageants that posterity cannot know, or 
shall blush to own. 

I always was of opinion, that sepulchral honours 
of this kind should be considered as a national con¬ 
cern, and not trusted to the care of the priests of any 
country, how respectable soever, but from the con¬ 
duct of the reverend personages, whose disinterested 
patriotism I shall shortly be able to discover, I am 
taught to retract my former sentiments. It is true, 
the Spartans and the Persians made a fine political 
use of sepulchral vanity; they permitted none to be 
thus interred who had not fallen into the vindica¬ 
tion of their country. A monument thus became a 
real mark of distinction; it nerved the hero’s arm 
with tenfold vigour, and he fought without fear 
who only fought for a grave. Farewell. 

— Goldsmith. 


LESSON CV 

CHINESE PHILOSOPHER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

(Part i) 

I am just returned from Westminster Abbey, 
the place of sepulture for the philosophers, heroes, 
and kings of England. What a gloom do monu¬ 
mental inspirations, and all the venerable remains 
of deceased merit, inspire! Imagine a temple marked 
with the hand of antiquity, solemn as religious awe, 
adorned with all the magnificence of barbarous pro- 



Standard Literary Selections. 319 

fusion, dim windows, fretted pillars, long colon¬ 
nades, and dark ceilings. Think, then, what were my 
sensations at being introduced to such a scene. I 
stood in the midst of the temple, and threw my eyes 
round on the walls, filled with the statutes, the in¬ 
scriptions, and the monuments of the dead. 

Alas! I said to myself, how does pride attend 
the puny child of dust even to the grave! Even 
humble as I am, I possess more consequence in the 
present scene than the greatest hero of them all: 
they have toiled for an hour to gain a transient im¬ 
mortality, and are at length retired to the grave, 
where they have no attendant but the worm, none 
to flatter but the epitaph. 

As I was indulging such reflections, a gentleman 
dressed in black, perceiving me to be a stranger, 
came up, entered into conversation, and politely of¬ 
fered to be my instructor and guide through the tem¬ 
ple. If any monument, said he, should particularly 
excite your curiosity, I shall endeavour to satisfy 
your demands. I accepted with thanks the gentle¬ 
man’s offer, adding that “I was come to observe the 
policy, the wisdom, and the justice of the English, 
in conferring rewards upon deceased merit. If 
adulation like this,” continued I, “be properly con¬ 
ducted, as it can no ways injure those who are flat¬ 
tered, so it may be a glorious incentive to those who 
are now capable of enjoying it. It is the duty of 
every good government to turn this monumental 
pride to its own advantage; to become strong in the 
aggregate from the weakness of the individual. If 
none but the truly great have a place in this awful 
repository, a temple like this will give the finest 


320 


Standard Literary Selections. 


lessons of morality, and be a strong incentive to true 
ambition. I am told that none have a place here 
but characters of the most distinguished merit.” The 
man in black seemed impatient at my observations, 
so I discontinued my remarks, and we walked on 
together to take a view of every particular monu¬ 
ment in order as it lay. 

As the eye is naturally caught by the finest ob¬ 
jects, I could not avoid being particularly curious 
about one monument, which appeared more beauti¬ 
ful than the rest; that, said I to my guide, I take to 
be the tomb of some very great man. By the pecu¬ 
liar excellence of the workmanship, and the mag¬ 
nificence of the design, this must be a trophy raised 
to the memory of some king, who has saved his 
country from ruin, or law-giver who has reduced 
his fellow-citizens from anarchy into just subjec¬ 
tion. It is not requisite, replied my companion, 
smiling, to have such qualifications in order to have 
a very fine monument here. More humble abilities 
will suffice. What! I suppose, then, the gaining 
two or three battles, or the taking half a score of 
towns, is thought a sufficient qualification? Gaining 
battles, or taking towns, replied the man in black, 
may be of service; but a gentleman may have a very 
fine monument here without ever seeing a battle or 
a siege. This, then, is the monument of some poet, 
I presume, of one whose wit has gained him immor¬ 
tality? No, sir, replied my guide, the gentleman 
who lies here never made verses; and as for wit, he 
despised it in others, because he had none for him¬ 
self. Pray tell me then in a word, said I peevishly, 
what is the great man who lies here particularly 


Standard Literary Selections. 321 

remarkable for? Remarkable, sir! said my com¬ 
panion ; why, sir, the gentleman that lies here is re¬ 
markable, very remarkable—for a tomb in West¬ 
minster Abbey. But, head of my ancestors! how 
has he got here? I fancy he could never bribe the 
guardians of the temple to give him a place. Should 
he not be ashamed to be seen among company, where 
even moderate merit would be like infamy? I sup¬ 
pose, replied the man in black, the gentleman was 
rich, and his friends, as is usual in such a case, 
told him he was great. He readily believed them; 
the guardians of the temple, as they got by the self- 
delusion, were ready to believe him too; so he paid 
his money for a fine monument; and the workman, 
as you see, has made him one of the most beautiful. 
Think not, however, that this gentleman is singular 
in his desire of being buried among the great; there 
are several others in the temple, who, hated and 
shunned by the great while alive, have come here, 
fully resolved to keep them company now they are 
dead. — Oliver Goldsmith. 


LESSON CVI 

CHINESE PHILOSOPHER IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

(Part 2) 

As WE walked along to a particular part of the 
temple. There, says the gentleman, pointing with 
his finger, that is the poet’s corner; there you see 
the monuments of Shakspeare, and Milton, and 



322 Standard Literary Selections. 

Prior, and Drayton. Drayton! I replied; I never 
heard of him before: but I have been told of one 
Pope; is he there? It is time enough, replied my 
guide, these hundred years; he is not long dead; 
people have not done hating him yet. Strange, cried 
I, can any be found to hate a man whose life was 
wholly spent in entertaining and instructing his fel¬ 
low-creatures? Yes, says my guide, they hate him 
for that very reason. There are a set of men called 
answerers of books, who take upon them to watch 
the republic of letters, and distribute reputation by 
the sheet. These answerers have no other employ¬ 
ment but to cry out Dunce, and Scribbler; to praise 
the dead, and revile the living; to grant a man of 
confessed abilities some small share of merit; to 
applaud twenty blockheads in order to gain the 
reputation of candour; and to revile the moral char¬ 
acter of the man whose writings they cannot in¬ 
jure. Such wretches are kept in pay by some mer¬ 
cenary bookseller, or more frequently the book¬ 
seller himself takes the dirty work off their hands, 
as all that is required is to be very abusive and very 
dull. Every poet of any genius is sure to find such 
enemies; he feels, though he seems to despise, their 
malice; they make him miserable here, and in the 
pursuit of empty fame, at last he gains solid anxiety. 

Has this been the case with every poet I see 
here ? cried I. Yes, with every mother’s son of 
them, replied he, except he happened to be born a 
mandarine. If he has much money, he may buy 
reputation from your book-answerers, as well as a 
monument from the guardians of the temple. 

But are there not some men of distinguished 


Standard Literary Selections. 


323 


taste, as in China, who are willing to patronize men 
of merit, and soften the rancour of malevolent dnl - 
ness ? 

I own there are many, replied the man in black; 
but, alas! sir, the book-answerers crowd about them, 
and call themselves the writers of books; and the 
patron is too indolent to distinguish; thus poets are 
kept at a distance, while their enemies eat up all 
their rewards at the mandarine's table. 

Leaving this part of the temple, we made up to 
an iron gate through which my companion told me 
we were to pass in order to see the monuments of 
the kings. Accordingly I marched up without 
further ceremony, and was going to enter, when a 
person who held the gate in his hand, told me I must 
pay first. I was surprised at such a demand; and 
asked the man whether the people of England kept 
a show ? whether the paltry sum he demanded was 
not a national reproach ? whether it was not more to 
the honour of the country to let their magnificence 
or their antiquities be openly seen, than thus meanly 
to tax a curiosity which tended to their own honour ? 
As for your questions, replied the gate-keeper, to 
be sure they may be very right, because I don’t un¬ 
derstand them; but, as for that there threepence, I 
farm it from one,—who rents it from another,— 
who hires it from a third,—who leases it from the 
guardian of the temple, and we all must live. I ex¬ 
pected, upon paying here, to see something extraor¬ 
dinary, since what I had seen for nothing filled 
me with much surprise: but in this I was disap¬ 
pointed ; there was little more within than black 
coffins, rusty armour, tattered standards, and some 


3 2 4 


Standard Literary Selections. 


few slovenly figures in wax. I was sorry I had paid, 
but I comforted myself by considering it would be 
my last payment. A person attended us, who, with¬ 
out once blushing, told a hundred lies: he talked of 
a lady who died by pricking her finger; of a king 
with a golden head, and twenty such pieces of ab¬ 
surdity. Look ye there, gentleman, says he, point¬ 
ing to an old oak chair, there’s a curiosity for ye; 
in that chair the kings of England were crowned: 
you see also a stone underneath, and that stone is 
Jacob’s pillow. I could see no curiosity either in the 
oak chair or the stone: could I, indeed, behold one of 
the old kings of England seated in this, or Jacob’s 
head laid upon the other, there might be something 
curious in the sight; but in the present case there 
was no more reason for my surprise, than if 1 
should pick a stone from the streets, and call it a 
curiosity, merely because one of the kings happened 
to tread upon it as he passed in a procession. 

From hence our conductor led us through sev¬ 
eral dark walks and winding ways, uttering lies, 
talking to himself, and flourishing a wand which he 
held in his hand. He reminded me of the black 
magician of Kobi. After we had been almost 
fatigued with a variety of objects, he at last desired 
me to consider attentively a certain suit of armour, 
which seemed to show nothing remarkable. This 
armour, said he, belonged to General Monk. Very 
surprising that a general should wear armour. And 
pray, added he, observe the cap, this is General 
Monk’s cap. Very strange, indeed, very strange, 
that a general should have a cap also! Pray, friend, 
what might this cap have cost originally ? That, sir, 


Standard Literary Selections. 


325 


says he, I don t know; but this cap is all the wages I 
have for my trouble. A very small recompense, truly, 
said I. Not so very small, replied he, for every 
gentleman puts some money into it, and I spend the 
money. What, more money! still more money! 
Every gentleman gives something, sir. I’ll give thee 
nothing, returned I; the guardians of the temple 
should pay you your wages, friend, and not permit 
you to squeeze thus from every spectator. When we 
Pay our money at the door to see a show, we never 
give more as we are going out. Sure, the guardians 
of the temple can never think they get enough. 
Show me the gate; if I stay longer, I may probably 
meet with more clerical beggars. 

Thus leaving the temple precipitately, I returned 
to my lodgings, in order to ruminate over what was 
great, and to despise what was mean in the occur¬ 
rences of the day. 

—Oliver Goldsmith. 


LESSON CVII 

DIVERSITY OF TALENT 

We cannot agree in opinion with those who im¬ 
agine that nature has been equally favourable to 
all men, in conferring upon them a fundamental 
capacity which may be improved to all the refine¬ 
ment of taste and criticism. Every day’s experience 
convinces us of the contrary. Of two youths edu¬ 
cated under the same preceptor, instructed with the 



326 Standard Literary Selections. 

same care, and cultivated with the same assiduity, 
one shall not only comprehend, but even anticipate 
the lessons of his master, by dint of natural discern¬ 
ment, while the other toils in vain to imbibe the least 
tincture of instruction. Such indeed is the distinc¬ 
tion between genius and stupidity, which every man 
has an opportunity of seeing among his friends and 
acquaintance. Not that we ought too hastily to de¬ 
cide upon the natural capacities of children, before 
we have maturely considered the peculiarity of dis¬ 
position, and the bias by which genius may be 
strangely warped from the common path of educa¬ 
tion. A youth incapable of retaining one rule of 
grammar, or of acquiring the least knowledge of 
the classics, may nevertheless make great progress 
in mathematics; nay, he may have a strong genius 
for the mathematics without being able to compre¬ 
hend a demonstration of Euclid; because his mind 
conceives in a peculiar manner, and is so intent upon 
contemplating the object in one particular point of 
view, that it cannot perceive it in any other. We 
have known an instance of a boy, who, while his 
master complained that he had not capacity to com¬ 
prehend the properties of a right-angled triangle, 
had actually, in private, by the power of his genius, 
formed a mathematical system of his own, discov¬ 
ered a series of curious theorems, and even applied 
his deductions to practical machines of surprising 
construction. Besides, in the education of youth, we 
ought to remember, that some capacities are like the 
pyra prcecopia; they soon blow, and soon attain to 
all that degree of maturity which they are capable 
of acquiring; while, on the other hand, there are 


Standard Literary Selections. 327 

genuises of slow growth, that are late in bursting 
the bud, and long in ripening. Yet the first shall 
yield a faint blossom and insipid fruit; whereas the 
produce of the other shall be distinguished and ad¬ 
mired for its well-concocted juice and excellent 
flavour. We have known a boy of five years of age 
surprising everybody by playing on the violin in 
such a manner as seemed to promise a prodigy in 
music. He had all the assistance that art could af¬ 
ford ; by the age of ten his genius was at the acme; 
yet, after that period, notwithstanding the most in¬ 
tense application, he never gave the least signs of 
improvement. At six he was admired as a miracle 
of music; at six-and-twenty he was neglected as an 
ordinary fiddler. The celebrated Dean Swift was a 
remarkable instance in the other extreme. He was 
long considered as an incorrigible dunce, and did not 
obtain his degree at the University but ex speciali 
gratia *; yet, when his powers began to unfold, he 
signalized himself by a very remarkable superiority 
of genius. When a youth, therefore, appears dull of 
apprehension, and seems to derive no advantage 
from study and instruction, the tutor must exercise 
his sagacity in discovering whether the soil is ab¬ 
solutely barren, or sown with seed repugnant to its 
nature, or of such a quality as requires repeated 
culture and length of time to set its juices in fer¬ 
mentation. These observations, however, relate to 
capacity in general, which we ought carefully to dis¬ 
tinguish from taste. Capacity implies the power of 
retaining what is received.; taste is the power of 
relishing or rejecting whatever is offered for the 


*Ex speciali gratia —through a special favor. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


entertainment of the imagination. A man may have 
capacity to acquire what is called learning and 
philosophy; but he must have also sensibility, be¬ 
fore he feels those emotions with which taste re¬ 
ceives the impressions of beauty. 

—Oliver Goldsmith * 


LESSON CVIII 

PART I—THOU ART, O GOD 

Thou art, O God, the life and light 
Of all this wondrous world we see; 

Its glow by day, its smile by night, 

Are but reflections caught from Thee. 
Where’er we turn, thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine! 

When Day, with farewell beam, delays 
Among the op’ning clouds of Even, 

And we can almost think we gaze 
Through golden vistas into Heaven— 
Those hues* that make the Sun’s decline 
So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine. 

When Night, with wings of starry gloom, 
O’ershadows all the earth and skies, 

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume 
Is sparkling with unnumber’d eyes— 

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, 

So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thine. 



Standard Literary Selections. 


329 


When youthful Spring around jis breathes, 

Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh; 

And every flower the Summer wreaths 
Is born beneath that kindling eye. 

Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, 

And all things fair and bright are Thine. 

—Thomas Moore. 

PART II—THE BIRD, LET LOOSE 

The bird, let loose in eastern skies, 

When hast’ning fondly home, 

Ne’er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 
Where idle warblers roam. 

But high she shoots through air and light, 
Above all low delay, 

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 

Nor shadow dims her way. 

So grant me, God, from every care 
And stain of passion free, 

Aloft, through Virtue’s purer air, 

To hold my course to Thee! 

No sin to cloud, no lure to stay 
My soul, as home she springs ;— 

Thy Sunshine on her joyful wav, 

Thy Freedom in her wings! 

—Thomas Moore. 


330 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CIX 

PART I—OH, THOU! WHO DRY’ST THE MOURNER^ 
TEAR 

Oh, Thou! who dry’st the mourner’s tear, 

How dark this world would be, 

If, when deceived and wounded here, 

We could not fly to Thee! 

The friends, who in our sunshine live, 

When winter comes, are flown; 

And he who has but tears to give, 

Must weep those tears alone. 

But Thou wilt heal that broken heart. 

Which, like the plants that throw 
Their fragrance from the wounded part, 

Breathes sweetness out of woe. 

When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 

And e’en the hope that threw 
A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears 
Is dimm’d and vanish’d too, 

Oh, who would bear life’s stormy doom, 

Did not Thy Wing of Love 
Come, brightly wafting through the gloom 
Our Peace-branch from above? 

Then sorrow, touch’d by Thee, grows bright 
With more than rapture’s ray; 

As darkness shows us worlds of light 
We never saw by day! 


—Thomas Moore. 


Standard Literary Selections. 331 

PART II—IS IT NOT SWEET TO THINK, HEREAFTER? 

Is it not sweet to think, hereafter, 

When the Spirit leaves this sphere, 

Love, with deathless wing, shall waft her 
To those she long hath mourn’d for here? 

Hearts, from which ’twas death to sever, 

Eyes, this world can ne’er restore, 

There, as warm, as bright as ever, 

Shall meet us and be lost no more. 

When wearily we wonder, asking 
Of earth and heaven where are they, 

Beneath whose smile we once lay basking, 

Bless’d, and thinking bliss would stay? 

Hope still lifts her radiant finger 
Pointing to th’ eternal Home, 

Upon whose portal yet they linger, 

Looking back for us to come. 

Alas,—alas!—doth Hope deceive us? 

Shall friendship—love—shall all those ties 
That bind a moment, and then leave us, 

Be found again where nothing dies? 

Oh, if no other boon were given, 

To keep our hearts from wrong and stain, 

Who would not try to win a heaven, 

Where all we love shall live again ? 

—Thomas Moore . 


33 2 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CX 

ANTI-CATHOLIC RIOTS, PHILADELPHIA 
(Part i) 

As his petition to the controllers of the public 
schools had been misrepresented, and made the 
motive for a violent pamphlet, the Bishop of Phila¬ 
delphia, in a card issued on the 12th of March, said: 
“Catholics have not asked that the Bible be excluded 
from the public schools. They have merely desired 
for their children the liberty of using the Catholic 
version, in case the reading of the Bible be pre¬ 
scribed by the controllers or directors of the schools. 
They only desire to enjoy the benefit of the Consti¬ 
tution of the State of Pennsylvania, which guaran¬ 
tees the rights of conscience, and precludes any 
preference of sectarian modes of worship. They 
ask that the school laws be faithfully executed and 
that “the religious predilections of the parents be 
respected. * * * They desire that the public 

schools be preserved from all sectarian influence, 
and that education be conducted in a way that may 
enable all citizens equally to share in its benefits 
without any violence being offered to their religious 
conviction/’ The Bishop further stated that he ex¬ 
pressed the views of the Catholic community, but 
that the holding of public meetings had been 
avoided, “lest Catholics should share in any degree 
the responsibility of the public excitement, which 
has been caused most unnecessarily on this subject.” 

But it was impossible to present the question so 


Standard Literary Selections. 


333 


that the public would view it calmly. The Native 
American party, already organized, caught readily 
at the opportunity. Meetings were held in which 
Protestant ministers took an active part, and thou¬ 
sands were induced to believe that Catholics wished 
to prevent Protestant children from reading their 
own Bible, when, in fact, Catholics asked merely 
that the Protestant Bible should not be forced upon 
Catholic children. 

To set themselves right, however, on record, the 
Catholics and the Bishop of Philadelphia again ad¬ 
dressed the board, clearly stating what they con¬ 
sidered their grievances; but the board would not 
concede to Catholic children the use of the Catholic 
Bible. 

As the election time approached, a plot was evi¬ 
dently formed to provoke a disturbance in Phila¬ 
delphia, and under cover of it, to destroy the Cath¬ 
olic churches. In pursuance of the scheme of the 
conspirators to create a serious riot, a Native 
American meeting was called on May 6th, and a plat¬ 
form was erected adjoining the schoolhouse. The 
proceedings were violent against the Irish, but not 
in acts, until a storm of rain compelled those as¬ 
sembled to take refuge in a neighboring market- 
house. In the rush, collisions took place, blows 
were struck, and firearms used. The meeting con¬ 
tinued and finally closed. But at ten o’clock at 
night, the Native Americans gathered a mob and 
began an attack on the houses on Franklin and 
Second streets occupied by Irish families. The in¬ 
mates fled, and the mob, after destroying all they 
could, set fire to the buildings, which were soon 


334 


Standard Literary Selections. 


consumed. Some attempt was made by those at¬ 
tacked to defend their lives and property, and here 
the first of the rioters .was slain. Then the cry was 
raised: ‘To the nunnery!” A rush was made by 
the mob, and the house which had been occupied by 
a little community endeavoring to organize like 
Sisters of Charity, on the corner of Second and 
Phoenix streets, was next attacked by the Native 
Americans, but a volley from a few defenders drove 
them off for a time. The riot thus far had re¬ 
sulted in the death and wounding of several and 
the wanton destruction of property. 

Ever a friend of peace, Bishop Kenrick had the 
following printed, and posted conspicuously 
throughout the city on the following day: 

To the Catholics of the City and County of Philadelphia: 

The melancholy riot of yesterday, which resulted in 
the death of several of our fellow-beings, calls for our deep 
sorrow, and it becomes all who have had any share in this 
tragical scene to humble themselves before God and to 
sympathize deeply and sincerely with those whose relatives 
and friends have fallen. I earnestly conjure you all to 
avoid all occasions of excitement, and to shun all public 
places of assemblage, and to do nothing that in any way 
may exasperate. Follow peace with all men, and have that 
charity without which no man can see God. 

TFrancis Patrick, 

Bishop of Philadelphia. 

Philadelphia, May 7’ 1844. 

—John Gilmary Shea. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


335 


LESSON CXI 

ANTI-CATHOLIC RIOTS, PHILADELPHIA 

(Part 2) 

But those who entered upon the conspiracy had 
no wish for peace. The Native Americans tore 
down this placard wherever they could. They called 
a meeting of their adherents that day in the State 
House yard, which, after being roused to the highest 
pitch of violence by the speakers, moved in a body 
to Kensington ;there they attacked the Hibernia hose 
house, which was soon destroyed, with its contents; 
and the houses inhabited by Irish people were set on 
fire, till twenty-nine, and the neighboring market, 
were in flames. 

Such was the condition of affairs when the First 
Brigade and two companies of the Third Brigade, 
under General Cadwalader, appeared on the scene, 
and further violence was prevented, but the fire 
department made no effort to save the burning 
houses. 

The next day a mob gathered at St. Michael’s 
Church, and about two o’clock Captain Fairlamb, in 
command of a detachment of militia, demanded of 
Rev. William Loughran, the pastor, the keys of the 
church and pastoral residence. Finding that there 
was no one there to defend it, the military, instead 
of protecting the church, allowed three of the mob 
to enter the church and set it on fire. The house 
was then broken into, the furniture demolished and 
the house fired. No attempt was made by the 


336 Standard Literary Selections. 

militia or firemen to check the fire or preserve the 
property. 

St. Augustine’s Church in Fourth street had been 
threatened. Here some show of protection was 
made. Mayor Scott stationed the city watch in 
front, and took up his position in the rear with a 
posse of citizens. Undeterred by these, the mob 
gathered and in a short time an attack was made 
with bricks, stones and other missiles. The Mayor 
was knocked down senseless, and the watch and 
posse were scattered. Only then did the military 
appear. The First City Troop rode by at a gallop, 
but made no effort to disperse the mob. The church 
was fired and the cupola was soon encircled with 
flames, which wreathed around the old State House 
bell that first rang out the tidings that the Declara¬ 
tion of Independence had been made by the Con¬ 
tinental Congress. The appearance of the destroy¬ 
ing flames was hailed with cheers, which redoubled 
when the cross fell. Firemen were present, but 
made no effort to save the church or the adjoining 
houses of Catholics, though they exerted them¬ 
selves to save those of other denominations. The 
rectory and an adjacent building used bv the Augus- 
tinian Fathers as a residence, seminary and library, 
the building which Rev. Dr. Hurley had voluntarily 
devoted as a hospital in the days of cholera, were 
given to the flames, and the valuable library of five 
thousand volumes was used by the rioters to spread 
the element of destruction. 

Between four and five o’clock the mob gathered 
again and renewed the attack on the house of the 


Standard Literary Selections. 337 

Sisters at Second and Phoenix streets, where the 
pious women had attended Protestant and Catholic 
alike in the days of pestilence. That building too 
was soon a blazing mass. Houses occupied by 
Catholics were set on fire and destroyed. 

The authorities then placed guards to protect 
St. Mary’s Church, as they had at St. John’s. The 
sacred vessels, the vestments, and other sacred ob¬ 
jects were removed from St. Joseph’s Church and 
the Church of the Holy Trinity to private houses. 
The Bishop, with the seminarians and many of the 
clergy, sought shelter in the houses of friends. 
Even the orphan asylums, with their helpless in¬ 
mates, were not deemed safe from the mob, which 
pretended to be impelled by religious motives. 

The next morning detachments of troops were 
sent to protect St. John’s Church, St. Philip Neri’s, 
St. Mary’s, Trinity, and the orphan asylums. Proc¬ 
lamations from Governor, Mayor and Sheriff fol¬ 
lowed, but with his flock threatened in their very 
homes, with the menace of destruction hanging over 
every church in the city, Bishop Kenrick felt it a 
duty to do what no religious body had ever done 
in this country, suspend generally its public services. 

To the Catholics of the City and County of Philadelphia: 

Beloved Children: In the critical circumstances in 
which you are placed, I feel it my duty to suspend the ex¬ 
ercises of public worship in the Catholic churches which 
still remain, until it can be resumed with safety, and we 
can enjoy our constitutional right to worship God accord¬ 
ing to the dictates of our conscience. I earnestly conjure 
you to practise unalterable patience under the trials to 
which it has pleased Divine Providence to subject you; 


338 Standard Literary Selections. 

and remember that affliction will serve to purify us, and 
render us acceptable to God through Jesus Christ, who 
patiently suffered the cross. 

+Francis Patrick, 

Bishop of Philadelphia. 

May 10, 1844. 

Such was the condition of the Catholic body in 
Philadelphia. If in the troubles in Kensington, 
provoked by men bitterly hostile to the Catholic 
Church, any Catholics were guilty, the offenders 
should have been arrested and punished. It did not 
appear that any of those implicated even worshipped 
at the churches or occupied the houses wantonly de¬ 
stroyed ; but that a peaceful community, numbering 
thousands, should be deprived of their churches, 
and of every opportunity of assembling for the exer¬ 
cises of religion, in a State professing equal rights 
in all denominations, is something that no sophistry 
can ever explain. It was the last great effort of 
Protestantism in America to crush the Church of 
God by open violence; but on the blackened walls 
Of St. Augustine’s Church stood out, clear and dis¬ 
tinct, the words: “The Lord seeth.” As soon as 
calm was restored, the Catholics began to rebuild 
their ruined churches. By the Feast of Holy Trin¬ 
ity, June 2d, Rev. T. J. Doneghoe had a temporary 
chapel, measuring 45 by 70 feet, erected on the site 
of St. Michael’s parsonage, with bricks taken from 
the ruins caused by sectarian hatred and intolerance. 

A grand jury was packed to consider the riots. 
Its finding falsely ascribed them to “the efforts of a 
portion of the community to exclude the Bible from 
the public schools.” It represented those killed 


Standard Literary Selections. 


339 


while burning houses as “unoffending citizens,” and 
never mentioned the fact that two Catholic churches 
and a seminary had been burned. The utter men¬ 
dacity of their statement in regard to the schools 
was proved by the testimony of the controllers and 
teachers. 

—John Gilmary Shea. 


LESSON CXII 

HELL 

(Part i)] 

From the first circle I descended thus 
Down to the second, which, a lesser space 
Embracing, so much more of grief contains, 
Provoking bitter moans. There Minos stands, 
Grinning with ghastly feature; he, of all 
Who enter, strict examining the crimes, 

Gives sentence, and dismisses them beneath, 
According as he foldeth him around; 

For when before him comes the ill-fated soul, 

It all confesses; and that judge severe 
Of sins, considering what place in hell 
Suits the transgression, with his tail so oft 
Himself encircles, as degrees beneath 
He dooms it to descend. ^Before him stand 
Alway a numerous throng; and in his turn 
Each one to judgment passing, speaks, and hears 
His fate, thence downward to his dwelling hurl’d. 

“O thou! who to this residence of woe 



34 ° Standard Literary Selections. 

Approachest!” when he saw me coming, cried 
Minos, relinquishing his dread employ, 

“Look how thou enter here; beware in whom 
Thou place thy trust; let not the entrance broad 
Deceive thee to thy harm.” To him my guide: 

“Wherefore exclaimest ? Hinder not his way 
By destiny appointed; so ’tis will’d, 

Where will and power are one. Ask thou no more, ’ 
Now ’gin the rueful wailings to be heard. 

Now am I come where many a plaining voice 
Smites on mine ear. Into a place I came 
Where light was silent all. Bellowing there groan'd 
A noise, as of a sea in tempest torn 
By warring winds. The stormy blast of hell 
With restless fury drives the spirits on, 

Whirl’d round and dash’d amain with sore annoy. 
When they arrive before the ruinous sweep, 

There shrieks are heard, there lamentations, moans, 
And blasphemies ’gainst the good Power in heaven. 

I understood, that to this torment sad 
The carnal sinners are condemn’d, in whom 
Reason by lust is sway’d. As in large troops 
And multitudinous, when winter reigns. 

The starlings on their wings are borne abroad; 

So bears the tyrannous gust those evil souls. 

On this side and on that, above, below, 

It drives them; hope of rest to solace them 
Is none, nor e’en of milder pang. As cranes, 
Chanting their dolorous notes, traverse the sky, 
Stretch’d out in long array; so I beheld 
Spirits, who came loud wailing, hurried on 
By their dire doom. Then I: “Instructor! who 
Are these, by the black air so scourged ?” “The first 


Standard Literary Selections. 


341 


’Mong those, of whom thou question’st,” he replied, 
‘‘O’er many tongues was empress. She in vice 
Of luxury was so shameless, that she made 
Liking be lawful by promulged decree, 

To clear the blame she had herself incurred. 

This is Semiramis, of whom ’tis writ, 

That she succeeded Ninus, her espoused, 

And held the land, which now the Soldan rules. 
The next in amorous fury slew herself, 

And to Sicheus’ ashes broke her faith; 

Then follows Cleopatra, lustful queen.” 

There mark’d I Helen, for whose sake so long 
The time was fraught with evil; there the great 
Achilles, who with love fought to the end. 

Paris I saw, and Tristan; and beside, 

A thousand more he show’d me, and by name 
Pointed them out, whom love bereaved of life. 

— Dante. 


LESSON CXIII 

HELL 

(Part 2) 

My sense reviving, that erewhile had droop’d 
With pity for the kindred shades, whence grief 
O’ercame me wholly, straight around I see 
New torments, new tormented souls, which way 
Soe’er I move, or turn, or bend my sight. 

In the third circle I arrive, showers 
Ceaseless, accursed, heavy and cold, unchanged 



342 


Standard Literary Selections: 


Forever, both in kind and in degree. 

Large hail, discolor’d water, sleety flaw 
Through the dun midnight air stream’d down amain : 
Stank all the land whereon that tempest fell, 
Cerberus, cruel monster, fierce and strange, 
Through his wide threefold throat barks as a dog 
Over the multitude immersed beneath. 

His eyes glare crimson, black his unctuous beard, 
His belly large, and claw’d the hands, with which 
He tears the spirits, flays them, and their limbs 
Piecemeal disparts. Howling there spread, as curs 
Under the rainy deluge, with one side 
The other screening, oft they roll them round, 

A wretched, godless crew. When that great worm 
Descried us, savage Cerberus, he oped 
His jaws, and the fangs show’d us; not a limb 
Of him but trembled. Then my guide, his palms 
Expanding on the ground, thence fill’d with earth 
Raised them, and cast it in his ravenous maw. 
E’en as a dog, that yelling bays for food 
His keeper, when the morsel comes, lets fall 
His fury, bent alone with eager haste 
To swallow it; so dropp’d the loathsome cheeks 
Of demon Cerberus, who thundering stuns 
The spirits, that they for deafness wish in vain. 

We, o’er the shades thrown prostrate by the burnt 
Of the heavy tempest passing, set our feet 
Upon their emptiness, that substance seem’d. 

They all along the earth extended lay, 

Save one, that sudden raised himself to sit, 

Soon as that way he saw us pass. “Oh thou!” 

He cried, “who through the infernal shades art led, 
Own, if again thou know’st me. Thou wast framed 


Standard Literary Selections. 


343 


Or ere my frame was broken.” I replied: 

“The anguish thou endurest perchance so takes 
Thy form from my remembrance, that it seems 
As if I saw thee never. But inform 
Me who thou art, that in a place so sad 
Art set, and in such torment, that although 
Other be greater, none disgusteth more.” 

He thus in answer to my words rejoin’d: 

“The city, heap’d with envy to the brim, 

Aye, that the measure overflows its bounds, 

Held me in brighter days. Ye citizens 
Were wont to name me Ciacco. For the sin 
Of gluttony, damned vice, beneath this rain, 

E’en as thou seest, I with fatigue am worn; 

Nor I sole spirit in this woe; all these 

Have by like crime incurred like punishment.” 

— Dante . 


LESSON CXIV 

PURGATORY 

(Part i) 

Meanwhile traverse along the hill there came, 

A little way before us, some who sang 
The “Miserere” in responsive strains. 

When they perceived that through my body I 
Gave way not for the rays to pass, their song 
Straight to a long and hoarse exclaim they changed; 
And two of them, in guise of messengers, 

Ran on to meet us, and inquiring ask’d: 



344 Standard Literary Selections. 

“Of your condition we would gladly learn.” 

To them my guide: “Ye may return and bear 
Tidings to them who sent you, that his frame 
Is real flesh. If, as I deem, to view 
His shade they paused, enough is answered them: 
Him let them honor; they may prize him well.” 

Ne’er saw I fiery vapors with such speed 
Cut through the serene air at fall of night, 

Nor August’s clouds athwart the setting sun, 

That upward these did not in shorter space 
Return; and, there arriving, with the rest, 

Wheel back on us, as with loose rein a troop. 

“Many,” exclaimed the bard, “are these, who 
throng 

Around us; to petition thee, they come. 

Go therefore on, and listen as thou go’st.” 

“O spirit! who go’st on to blessedness, 

With the same limbs that clad thee at thy birth,” 
Shouting they came: “a little rest thy step. 

Look if thou any one amongst our tribe 

Hast e’er beheld, that tidings of him there 

Thou may’st report. Ah, wherefore go’st thou on? 

Ah, wherefore tarriest thou not? We all 

By violence died, and to our latest hour 

Were sinners, but then warn’d by light from heaven; 

So that, repenting and forgiving, we 

Did issue out of life at peace with God, 

Who with desire to see Him fills our heart.” 

— Dante. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


345 


PURGATORY 

(Part 2) 

Ghost: 

I am thy father’s spirit, 

Doom’d for a certain term to walk the night, 

And for the day confin’d to fast in fires, 

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature 
Are burnt and purg’d away. But that I am forbid 
To tell the secrets of my prison-house, 

I could a tale unfold whose lightest word 
Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, 
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their 
spheres, 

Thy knotted and combined locks to part, 

And each particular hair to stand on end, 

Like quills upon the fretful porpentine; 

But this eternal blazon must not be 
To ears of flesh and blood. 

— Shakspeare . 

Hamlet, Act I, Scene V. 


LESSON CXV 

PARADISE 

“Forth from the last corporeal are we come 
Into the heaven, that is unbodied light; 

Light intellectual, replete with love; 

Love of true happiness, replete with joy; 



346 Standard Literary Selections. 

Joy, that transcends all sweetness of delight. 

Here shalt thou look on either mighty host 
Of Paradise; and one in that array, 

Which in the final judgment thou shalt see.” 

As when the lightning, in a sudden spleen, 
Unfolded, dashes from the blinding eyes 
The visive spirits, dazzled and bedimm’d ; 

So, round about me, fulminating streams 
Of living raidance play’d, and left me swathed 
And veil’d in dense impenetrable blaze. 

Such weal is in the love, that stills this heaven; 
For its own flame the torch thus fitting ever. 

No sooner to my listening ear had come 
The brief assurance, than I understood 
New virtue into me infused, and sight 
Kindled afresh, with vigor to sustain 
Excess of light, however pure, I look’d; 

And, in the likeness of a river, saw 

Light flowing, from whose amber-seeming waves 

Flash’d up effulgence, as they glided on 

’Twixt banks, on either side, painted with spring, 

Incredible how fair; and, from the tide, 

There ever and anon, outstarting, flew 
Sparkles instinct with life; and in the flowers 
Did set them, like to rubies chased in gold: 

Then, as if drunk with odors, plunged again 
Into the wondrous flood; from which, as one 
Re-enter’d, still another rose. “The thirst 
Of knowledge high, whereby thou art inflamed, 

To search the meaning of what here thou seest, 
The more it warms thee, pleases me the more, 

But first behooves thee of this water drink, 

Or e’er that longing be allay’d.” So spake 


Standard Literary Selections. 


347 


The day-star of mine eyes; then thus subjoined: 
“This stream; and these, forth issuing from its gulf, 
And diving back, a living topaz each; 

With all this laughter on its bloomy shores; 

Are but a preface, shadowy of the truth 
They emblem: not that, in themselves, the things 
Are crude; but on thy part is the defect, 

For that thy views not yet aspire so high.” 

— Dante . 


LESSON CXVI 
America's debt to the church 

The following extract from the address of Law¬ 
yer Eastabrook, of Omaha, shows that there are 
some Protestants who recognize how much this 
country owes to the Catholic Church: “Do you be¬ 
lieve,” said Mr. Eastabrook, “that Catholics would 
destroy or suffer others to destroy this American 
Republic, which, except for them, would never have 
existed ? Why, America was discovered by a Cath- 
olic—Christopher Columbus. If you say that Co¬ 
lumbus was not its discoverer, then what was the 
late Columbian Exhibition intended to celebrate? 
Did Ericsson discover America? Be it so. Ericsson 
was a Catholic. But Columbus and Ericsson only 
touched upon our borders. It was left for other 
Catholics, missionaries and explorers, to press 
onward to the interior. The northern lakes were 



348 Standard Literary Selections. 


discovered and made known by Champlain, a Cath¬ 
olic. 

“The Mississippi valley and all this fertile west¬ 
ern country might not, even yet, have been opened to 
you and me and our children after us, were it not for 
the intrepidity and self-sacrifice of such men as Hen¬ 
nepin, Duluth, Joliet, Marquette, LaSalle—Catho¬ 
lics, every one of them. One of the greatest repub¬ 
lican clubs in this country, the Marquette Club of 
Chicago, was named after Marquette, the Catholic 
missionary and explorer. Catholic missionaries were 
preaching to the American Indians as early as 1526, 
long before a Protestant had ever set his foot on 
American soil. It was a full hundred years later that 
our Pilgrim Fathers landed in the Mayflower— 
honest, hard-headed, obstinate, opinionated, uncom¬ 
fortable old duffers, from whose loins I have the 
honor to be descended. They were constitutionally 
opposed to being happy themselves or permitting 
anybody else to be happy. 

“At the battle of Bunker Hill, the first real test of 
heroic patriotism, there were engaged on the Amer¬ 
ican side 1,500 troops, and of these 20 per cent, at 
least were Irish Catholics. Why, America’s first 
commodore was a Catholic, who, to the demand of a 
British man-of-war as to who or what he was, sang 
out: Tm Jack Barry, half Irish and half Yankee. 
Who are you ?’ But American patriotism, American 
valor, American prowess, enlisted as they were in a 
righteous cause, could not of themselves have 
brought our Republic into being. Those were times 
to try men’s souls. Freedom staggered and groped 
widely in the dark. Her naked feet left their bloody 


Standard Literary Selections. 


349 


imprint in the snows of Valley Forge. Patrick 
Henry, with the trumpet voice of a prophet, had de¬ 
clared to the Virginia delegates, “We shall not fight 
our battles alone. There is a just God who presides 
over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up 
friends to fight our battles for us. What is a friend, 
my countrymen ? Some one has said that a friend is 
the first one who comes in when all the world goes 
out. That friend of America, of liberty, of God— 
write it on your hearts, my countrymen!—that 
friend was France—Catholic France!” 


LESSON CXVII 

WAS SHAKSPEARE A CATHOLIC? 

The elucidation of the question, “Was Shaks- 
peare a Catholic?” was undertaken by Mr. John 
Hand, of the Liverpool School Board, at a meeting 
of the Liverpool Catholic Literary Society. The 
chair was taken by Mr. Edmund Kirby. Mr. Hand 
remarked that there was no other writer of whom 
so much has been written as Shakspeare, and yet 
in the whole history of literature there was no one 
within even measurable distance in ability, except¬ 
ing Homer, of whom so little was known. How to 
account for this has been the puzzle of all his com¬ 
mentators. There was one way to account for it, 
however, but singular to relate, this way out of the 
crux had never seriously suggested itself to those 
sapient gentlemen who had burned the midnight 



350 


Standard Literary Selections. 


oil so plentifully and wasted so much thought and 
ink anent the subject. Suppose Shakspeare to have 
been a Catholic and they had the whole raison d'etre 
accounted for to a tittle. Let them consider what 
to be a Catholic meant in the latter days of Eliza¬ 
beth and in the reign of James I., and, still further, 
what it would undoubtedly mean were a Catholic 
to put himself prominently in evidence at that pe¬ 
riod. 

Shakspeare’s father need not have been a Prot¬ 
estant to have held the positions he did at Stratford. 
He was chosen a burgess, and also one of the four 
constables in 1557, under Mary. The father of Shaks¬ 
peare’s mother was a Catholic of Catholics, and it 
was fairly safe to credit her with remaining in the 
church in which she was born and in which she 
had been married. The essayist detailed the trials 
of the Ardens and Sommervilles, who were related 
to his mother, and pointed out that Shakspeare 
must have had ocular demonstration of what was 
being done to hound down Catholics, and to hunt 
up evidence against his relatives. At the school of 
Stratford-on-Avon, which Shakspeare may have 
attended from 1570 to 1578, the teachers included 
Walter Roche, a man with an unmistakable Irish 
name. Would the fact of his schoolmaster being an 
Irishman account for the other fact that throughout 
his voluminous work not one word of disparagement 
of Ireland or of an Irishman was to be found? This 
was a point worthy of attention, and it did not seem 
to have presented itself to any editor or commenta¬ 
tor of Shakspeare. 

Ben Jonson had two children to one of whom 


Standard Literary Selections. 


35 * ; 


Shakspeare stood godfather. Jonson was then a 
Catholic, as was also his wife. Was Jonson likely 
to have had a Protestant acting as godfather? 

In dealing with the sentiments in Shaks- 
peare’s works, Mr. Hand said there were in¬ 
numerable passages throughout the work bearing- 
on Catholic observances which only a writer imbued 
with the spirit of Catholic teaching could ever have 
penned. And then consider the risk he ran and 
what it would have gained him to have satirized and 
ridiculed Catholic teaching and worship. But this 
he never did. How dear to the heart of the great 
bard were nuns and friars! In “Measure for Meas¬ 
ure” he introduces us to a nunnery, and how 
reverently he makes the Sisters speak! His refer¬ 
ence to Catholic usage and prayers abounded in 
“Romeo and Juliet.” He knew something of Con¬ 
fession, evidently, for he made the Friar Lawrence 
say to Romeo: 

“Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift, 
Riddling Confession gets but riddling shift.” 
Was Purgatory, which Catholics believed in, 
not pointed to when the Ghost in “Hamlet” said: 
“My hour is almost come, 

When I to sulphurous and tormenting flames 
Must render up myself.” 

“I am thy father’s spirit, 

Doomed for a certain term to walk the night, 
And for the day confined to fast in fires, 

Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature 
Are burnt and purged away.” 

Wheeler, who edited the edition of Shakspeare 
which was published about 1820, said this was a 


352 Standard Literary Selections. 

Romish Purgatory, and was rank Papistry. The 
Danes at the time, he adds, were pagans. But quo¬ 
tations innumerable might be adduced. Protestant 
writers had often pointed to Shakspeare as a prod¬ 
uct of the Reformation, and singled out for special 
reference his descriptions in “King John” of Car¬ 
dinal Pandulph, the Pope’s legate, and his strong 
denunciation of Papal authority. It was true 
Shakspeare put into the mouths of his hearers 
speeches against the Pope and the legate which were, 
from a historical point of view, manifestly unjust. 
But though he did this, it was no proof he was a 
Protestant—indeed, he might be a good Catholic 
and do so. At the time of the Catholic veto affair 
Daniel O’Connell, who was a Catholic of the Cath¬ 
olics, inveighed against the Pope’s interference, 
saying that they (the Irish people) would take their 
religion from Rome, but not their politics, and in the 
last few years Mgr. Persico, a legate from the Pope, 
was roundly abused in Ireland; and Leo XIII. came 
in for a good share of the invective. But would it be 
true to say that writers and speakers indulging in 
such language were not Catholics? Shakspeare, 
whatever he might have written of the Pope or 
Cardinals, never uttered one syllable that reflected 
in the slightest degree on Catholic doctrine. Nay, 
he had often gone out of his way to speak as he could 
of its sublime beauties. He might have been an 
indifferent Catholic, as indeed he likely was, but a 
Catholic they had every reason to believe he was, 
imbued with a true Catholic spirit and contemning 
in his heart the puritanism then rampant. Most re¬ 
markable was it that on the death of Elizabeth the 


Standard Literary Selections. 


353 


greatest poet of all, although publicly invited to do 
so, remained silent, and penned no tribute, in prose 
or verse, to the dead monarch, who was wont to 
patronize him. The Davies MSS., preserved at Cor¬ 
pus Christi College, Oxford, relating to Shakspeare, 
concludes thus: “From an actor of plays he be¬ 
came a composer. He died April 23, 1616, aged 
53 years, probably at Stratford, for there he is 
buried and hath a monument, on which he lays a 
heavy curse upon any who shall remove his bones. 
He died a Papist.” So said they as Catholics. 


LESSON CXVIII 

THE HOLY GRAIL 

From noiseful arms, and acts of prowess done 
In tournament or tilt, Sir Percivale, 

Whom Arthur and his knighthood call’d The Pure, 
Had pass’d into the silent life of prayer, 

Praise, fast, and alms; and leaving for the cowl 

The helmet in an abbey for away 

From Camelot, there, and not long after, died. 

And one, a fellow-monk among the rest, 

Ambrosius, loved him much beyond the rest, 

And honor’d him, and wrought into his heart 
A way by love that waken’d love within, 

To answer that which came: and as they sat 
Beneath a world-old vew-tree, darkening half 



354 


Standard Literary Selections. 


The cloisters, on a gustful April morn 
That puff’d the swaying branches into smoke 
Above them, ere the summer when he died, 

The monk Ambrosius question’d Percivale: 

“O brother, I have seen this yew-tree smoke, 
Spring after spring, for half a hundred years: 

For never have I known the world without, 

Nor ever stray’d beyond the pale: but thee, 

When first thou earnest—such a courtesy 
Spake thro’ the limbs and in the voice—I knew 
For one of those who eat in Arthur’s hall; 

For good ye are and bad, and like to coins, 

Some true, some light, but every one of you 
Stamp’d with the image of the King; and now 
Tell me, what drove thee from the Table Round, 
My brother? was it earthly passion crost?” 

“Nay,” said the knight; “for no such passion mine 
But the sweet vision of the Holy Grail 
Drove me from all vainglories, rivalries, 

And earthly heats that spring and sparkle out 
Among us in the jousts, while women watch 
Who wins, who falls; and waste the spiritual 
strength 

Within us, better offer’d up to Heaven.” 

To whom the monk: “The Holy Grail!—I trust. 

We are green in Heaven’s eyes; but here too much 
We moulder—as to things without I mean— 

Yet one of your own knights, a guest of ours, 


Standard Literary Selections. 355 

Told us of this in our refectory, 

But spake with such a sadness and so low 
We heard not half of what he said. What is it? 
The phantom of a cup that comes and goes?” 

“Nay, monk! what phantom?” answer’d Percivale, 
"The cup, the cup itself, from which our Lord 
Drank at the last sad supper with his own. 

This, from the blessed land of Aromat— 

After the day of darkness, when the dead 
Went wandering o’er Moriah—the good saint 
Arimathsean Joseph, journeying brought 
To Glastonbury, where the winter thorn 
Blossoms at Christmas, mindful of our Lord. 

And there awhile it bode; and if a man 
Could touch or see it, he was heal'd at once, 

By faith, of all his ills. But then the times 

Grew to such evil that the holy cup 

Was caught away to Heaven, and disappear’d.” 

To whom the monk: “From our old books I know 
That Joseph came of old to Glastonbury, 

And there the heathen Prince, Arviragus, 

Gave him an isle of marsh whereon to build; 

And. there he built with wattles from the marsh 
A little lonely church in days of yore, 

For so they say, these books of ours, but seem 
Mute of this miracle, far as I have read, 

But who first saw the holy thing to-day?” 

“A woman,” answer’d Percivale, “a nun, 

And one no further off in blood from me 
Than sister; and if ever holy maid 


356 Standard Literary Selections. 

With knees of adoration wore the stone, 

A holy maid; tho’ never maiden glow’d, 

But that was in her earlier maidenhood, 

With such a fervent flame of human love, 

Which being rudely blunted, glanced and shot 
Only to holy things; to prayer and praise 
She gave herself, to fast and alms. And yet, 

Nun as she was, the scandal of the Court, 

Sin against Arthur and the Table Round, 

And the strange sound of an adulterous race, 

Across the iron grating of her cell 

Beat, and she pray’d and fasted all the more. 

—Alfred Tennyson . 


LESSON CXIX 

THE NATURE OF MYSTERIES 

There is nothing beautiful, pleasing, or grand in 
life, but that which is more or less mysterious. The 
most wonderful sentiments are those which produce 
impressions difficult to be explained. Modesty, 
chaste love, virtuous friendship, are full of secrets. 
It would seem that half a word is sufficient for the 
mutual understanding of hearts that love, and that 
they are, as it were, disclosed to each other’s view. 
Is not innocence, also, which is nothing but a holy 
ignorance, the most ineffable of mysteries? If in¬ 
fancy is so happy, it is owing to the absence of 
knowledge; and if old age is so wretched, it is be¬ 
cause it knows everything; but, fortunately for the 



Standard Literary Selections. 357 

latter, when the mysteries of life are at an end, 
those of death commence. 

What we say here of the sentiments may be said 
also of the virtues : the most angelic are those which, 
emanating immediately from God, such as charity, 
studiously conceal themselves, like their source, 
from mortal view. 

If we pass to the qualities of the mind, we shall 
find that the pleasures of the understanding are in 
like manner secrets. Mystery is of a nature so di¬ 
vine, that the early inhabitants of Asia conversed 
only by symbols. What science do we continually 
apply, if not that which always leaves something 
to be conjectured, and which sets before our eyes an 
unbounded prospect? If we wander in the desert, 
a kind of instinct impels us to avoid the plains, 
where we can embrace every object at a single 
glance; we repair to those forests, the cradle of re¬ 
ligion,—those forests whose shades, whose sounds, 
and whose silence, are full of wonders,—those soli¬ 
tudes, where the first fathers of the Church were 
fed by the raven and the bee, and where those holy 
men tasted such inexpressible delights as to ex¬ 
claim, “Enough, O Lord! I shall be overpowered if 
Thou dost not moderate Thy divine communications.” 
We do not pause at the foot of a modern monument; 
but if, in a desert island, in the midst of the wide 
ocean, we come all at once to a statue of bronze 
whose extended arm points to the regions of the set¬ 
ting sun, and whose base, covered with hieroglyph¬ 
ics, attests the united ravages of the billows and 
of time, what a fertile source of meditation is here 
opened to the traveller! There is nothing in the 


358 Standard Literary Selections. 

universe but what is hidden, but what is unknown. 
Is not man himself an inexplicable mystery ? Whence 
proceeds that flash of lightning which we call exist¬ 
ence, and in what night is it about to be extin¬ 
guished? The Almighty has stationed Birth and 
Death, under the form of veiled phantoms, at the two 
extremities of our career; the one produces the in¬ 
comprehensible moment of life, which the other uses 
every exertion to destroy. 

Considering, then, the natural propensity of man 
to the mysterious, it cannot appear surprising that 
the religions of all nations should have had their 
impenetrable secrets. The Selli studied the miracu¬ 
lous words of the doves of Dodona; India, Persia, 
Ethiopia, Scythia, the Gauls, the Scandinavians, had 
their caverns, their holy mountains, their sacred 
oaks, where the Brahmins, the Magi, the Gymnoso- 
phists, or the Druids, proclaimed the inexplicable 
oracle of the gods. 

Heaven forbid that we should have any intention 
to compare these mysteries with those of the true 
religion, or the inscrutable decrees of the Sover¬ 
eign of the Universe with the changing ambiguities 
of gods, “the work of human hands.” We merely 
wished to remark that there is no religion without 
mysteries; these, with sacrifices, constitute the es¬ 
sential part of worship. God Himself is the great 
secret of Nature. The Divinity was represented 
veiled in Egypt, and the sphinx was seated upon the 
threshold of the temples. 

— Chateaubriand. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


359 


LESSON CXX 

THE CRITERION OF VICE AND VIRTUE 

Most of the ancient philosophers have marked 
the distinction between vices and virtues; but how 
far superior in this respect, also, is the wisdom of re¬ 
ligion to the wisdom of men! 

Let us first consider pride alone, which the 
Church ranks as the principal among the vices. 
Pride was the sin of Satan, the first sin that polluted 
this terrestrial globe. Pride is so completely the 
root of evil, that it is intermingled with all the other 
infirmities of our nature. It beams in the smile of 
envy, it bursts forth in the debaucheries of the 
libertine, it counts the gold of avarice, it is the com¬ 
panion of graceful effeminacy. 

Pride occasioned the fall of Adam; pride armed 
Cain against his innocent brother; it was pride that 
erected Babel and overthrew Babylon. Through 
pride Athens, became involved in the common ruin 
of Greece; pride destroyed the throne of Cyrus, di¬ 
vided the empire of Alexander, and crushed Rome 
itself under the weight of the universe. 

In the- particular circumstances of life, pride 
produces still more baneful effects. It has the pre¬ 
sumption to attack even the Deity Himself. 

Upon inquiring into the causes of atheism, we 
are led to this melancholy observation; the most of 
those who rebel against Heaven imagine that they 
find something wrong in the constitution of society 
or the order of nature; excepting, however, the 


360 Standard Literary Selections. 

young who are seduced by the world, or writers 
whose only object is to attract notice. But how 
happens it that they who are deprived of the incon¬ 
siderable advantages which a capricious fortune 
gives or takes away, have not the sense to seek the 
remedy of this trifling evil in drawing near God? 
He is the great fountain head of blessing. So truly 
is He the quintessence itself of beauty, that His name 
alone, pronounced with love, is sufficient to impart 
something divine to theman who is the least favoured 
by nature, as has been remarked in the case of Soc¬ 
rates. Let atheism be for those who, not having 
courage enough to rise superior to the trials of their 
lot, display in their blasphemies naught but the first 
vice of man. 

If the Church has assigned to pride the first place 
in the scale of human depravity, she has shown no 
less wisdom in the classification of the six other cap¬ 
ital vices. It must not be supposed that the order 
of this arrangement is arbitrary; we need only to 
examine it to perceive that religion, with an ad¬ 
mirable discrimination, passes from those vices 
which attack society in general to such as recoil 
upon the head of the guilty individual alone. Thus, 
for instance, envy, luxury, avarice, and anger, im¬ 
mediately follow pride, because they are vices which 
suppose a foreign object and exist only in the midst 
of society; whereas gluttony and idleness, which 
come last, are solitary and base inclinations, that find 
in themselves their principal gratification. 

In the estimate and classification of the virtues, 
we behold the same profound knowledge of human 
nature. Before the coming of Jesus Christ the hu- 


Standard Literary Selections. 361 

man soul was a chaos; the Word spoke, and order 
instantly pervaded the intellectual world, as the 
same hat had once produced the beautiful arrange¬ 
ment of the physical world. This was the moral 
creation of the universe. The virtues, like pure 
fires, ascended into the heavens: some, like brilliant 
suns, attracted every eye by their glorious radiance; 
others, more modest luminaries, appeared only un¬ 
der the veil of night, which, however, could not 
conceal their lustre. From that moment an admir¬ 
able balance between strength and weakness was 
established; religion hurled all her thunderbolts at 
Pride, that vice which feeds upon the virtues; she 
detected it in the inmost recesses of the heart, she 
pursued it in all its changes; the sacraments, in 
holy array, were marshalled against it; and Humil¬ 
ity clothed in sackcloth, her waist begirt with a 
cord, her feet bare, her head covered with ashes, 
her downcast eye swimming in tears, became one 
of the primary virtues of the believer. 

— Chateaubriand. 


LESSON CXXI 

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS 

(Part i) 

I looked far back into other years, and lo! in bright 
array, 

I saw, as in a dream, the forms of ages passed away. 
It was a stately convent, with its old and lofty walls. 



362 Standard Literary Selections. 


And gardens with their broad green walks, where 
soft the footstep falls; 

And o’er the antique dial-stone the creeping shadow 
passed, 

And all around the noonday sun a drowsy radiance 
cast. 

No sound of busy life was heard, save from the 
cloister dim 

The tinkling of the silver bell, or sister’s holy 
hymn. 

And there five noble maidens sat beneath the or¬ 
chard trees, 

In that first budding spring of youth, when all its 
prospects please; 

And little reck'd they, when they sang, or knelt at 
vesper prayers, 

That Scotland knew no prouder names—held none 
more dear than theirs: 

And little even the loveliest thought, before the holy 
shrine, 

Of royal blood and high descent from the ancient 
Stuart line: 

Calmly her happy days flew on, uncounted in 
their flight, 

And as they flew, they left behind a long-continu¬ 
ing light. 

The scene was changed. It was the Court, the gay 
Court of Bourbon, 

And ’neath a thousand silver lamps a thousand cour¬ 
tiers throng; 

And proudly kindles Henry’s eye—well pleased, I 
ween, to see 


Standard Literary Selections. 363 


The land assemble all its wealth of grace and 
chivalry! 

But fairer far than all the rest who bask on for¬ 
tune’s tide, 

Effulgent in the light of youth, is she, the new-made 
bride! 

The homage of a thousand hearts—the fond, deep 
love of one— 

The hopes that dance around a life whose charms 
are but begun- 

They lighten up her chestnut eye, they mantle o’er 
her cheek, 

They sparkle on her open brow, and high-souled 
joy bespeak: 

Ah! who shall blame, if scarce that day, through 
all its brilliant hours, 

She thought of that quiet convent’s calm, its sun¬ 
shine and its flowers? 

The scene was changed. It was a bark, that slowly 
held its way, 

And o’er its lee the coast of France in the light of 
evening lay; 

And on its deck a lady sat, who gazed with tearful 
eyes 

Upon the fast-receding hills, that dim and distant 
rise. 

No marvel that the lady wept—there was no land 
on earth 

She loved like that dear land, although she owed it 
not her birth; 

It was her mother’s land, the land of childhood and 
of friends— 


364 Standard Literary Selections. 


It was the land where she had found for all her 
griefs amends— 

The land where her dead husband slept—the land 
where she had known 

The tranquil convent’s hushed repose, and the splen¬ 
dors of a throne. 

No marvel that the lady wept—it was the laud of 
France— 

The chosen home of chivalry, the garden of ro¬ 
mance ! 

The past was bright, like those dear hills so far 
behind her bark; 

The future, like the gathering night, was ominous 
and dark! 

One gaze again—one long, last gaze—“Adieu, fair 
France, to thee!” 

The breeze comes forth—she is alone on the un¬ 
conscious sea. 

The scene was changed. It was an eve of raw and 
surly mood, 

And in a turret-chamber high of ancient Holyrood 

Sat Mary, listening to the rain, and sighing with 
the winds, 

That seemed to suit the stormy state of men’s un¬ 
certain minds. 

The touch of care had blanched her cheek—her 
smile was sadder now, 

The weight of royalty had pressed too heavy on 
her brow; 

And traitors to her councils came, and rebels tc 
the field; 


Standard Literary Selections. 365 

The Stuart sceptre well she swayed, but the sword 
she could not wield. 

She thought of all her blighted hopes— the dreams 
of youth’s brief day, 

And summoned Rizzio with his lute, and bade the 
minstrel play 

The songs she loved in early years—the songs of 
gay Navarre, 

The songs, perchance, that erst were sung by gal¬ 
lant Chatelar; 

They half beguiled her of her cares, they soothed 
her into smiles, 

They won her thoughts from bigot zeal and fierce 
domestic broils; 

But hark! the tramp of armed men! the Douglas’ 
battle-cry! 

They come, they come !—and lo! the scowl of Ruth- 
ven’s hollow eye! 

And swords are drawn, and daggers gleam, and 
tears and words are vain— 

The ruffian steel is in his heart—the faithful Riz- 
zio’s slain! 

Then Mary Stuart dashed aside the tears that trick¬ 
ling fell: 

“Now for my father’s arm!” she said ; “my woman’s 
heart, farewell!” 


—H. G. Bell . 


366 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CXXII 

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS 

(Part 2) 

The scene was changed. It was a lake, with one 
small lonely isle, 

And there, within the prison-walls of its baronial 
pile, 

Stern men stood menacing their Queen, till she 
should stoop to sign 

The traitorous scroll that snatched the crown from 
her ancestral line. 

“My lords, my lords!’” the captive said, “were I 
but once more free, 

With ten good knights on yonder shore, to aid my 
cause and me, 

That parchment would I scatter wide to ever-y 
breeze that blows, 

And once , more reign a Stuart Queen o’er my ^re¬ 
morseless foes!” 

A. red spot burned upon her cheek—streamed her 
rich tresses down, 

She wrote the words—she stood erect—a Queen 
without a crown! 


The scene was changed. A royal host a royal ban¬ 
ner bore, 

And the faithful of the land stood round their smil¬ 
ing Queen once more; 


Standard Literary Selections. 367 


She stayed her steed upon a hill—she saw them 
marching by— 

She heard their shouts—she read success in every 
flashing eye. 

The tumult of the strife begins—it roars—it dies 
away; 

And Mary’s troops and banners now, and cour¬ 
tiers—where are they? 

Scattered and strewn, and flying far, defenceless 
and undone— 

Alas! to think what she has lost, and all that guilt 
has won! 

—Away! Away! thy gallant steed must act no 
laggard’s part; 

Yet vain his speed—for thou dost bear the arrow 
in thy heart! 

The scene was changed. Beside the block a sullen 
headsman stood, 

And gleamed the broad axe in his hand, that soon 
must drip with blood. 

With slow and steady steps there came a lady 
through the hall, 

And breathless silence chained the lips and touched 
the hearts of all. 

I knew that queenly form again, though blighted 
Was its bloom— 

I saw that grief had decked it out—an offering for 
the tomb! 

I knew the eye, though faint its light, that once so 
brightly shone; 

I knew the voice, though feeble now, that thrilled 
with every tone. 




368 Standard Literary Selections. 

I knew the ringlets, almost gray, once threads of 
living gold; 

I knew that bounding grace of step—that sym¬ 
metry of mould! 

Even now I see her far away, in that calm convent 
aisle, 

I hear her chant her vesper-hymn, I mark her holy 
smile— 

Even now I see her bursting forth, upon the bridal 
morn! 

A new star in the firmanent, to light and glory born! 

Alas! the change! she placed her foot upon a triple 
throne, 

And on the scaffold now she stands—beside the 
block—alone! 

The little dog that licks her hand—the last of all the 
crowd 

Who sunned themselves beneath her glance, and 
round her footsteps bowed! 

—Her neck is bared—the blow is struck—the soul 
is passed away! 

The bright, the beautiful, is now a bleeding piece 
of clay! 

The dog is moaning piteously, and, as it gurgles 
o’er, 

Laps the warm blood that trickling runs unheeded 
to the floor! 

The blood of beauty, wealth, and power—the heart- 
blood of a Queen— 

The noblest of the Stuart race—the fairest earth 
has seen— 


Standard Literary Selections. 369 

Lapped by a dog! Go, think of it, in silence and 
alone; 

Then weigh against a grain of sand the glories of 
a throne! 

— H. G. Bell, 


LESSON CXXIII 

PART I—MASS FOR THE DEAD 

Sunset again o’er Quebec 
Spread like a gorgeous pall; 

Again does its rich, glowing loveliness deck 
River, and castle, and wall. 

Follows the twilight haze, 

And now the star-gemmed night; 

And outburst the Recollet’s church in a blaze 
Of glittering, spangling light. 

Crowds in the spacious pile 

Are thronging the aisles and nave, 

With soldiers from altar to porch, in file, 

All motionless, mute, and grave. 

Censers are winging around, 

Wax-lights are shedding their glare, 

And rolling majestic its volume of sound 
The organ oppresses the air. 



370 


Standard Literary Selections. 


The chorister’s sorrowing strain 
Sounds shrill as the winter breeze, 

Then low and soothing, as when complain 
Soft airs in the summer trees. 

The taper-starred altar before, 

Deep mantled in mourning black, 

With sabre and plume on the pall spread o’er, 

Is the coffin of Frontenac. 

Around it the nobles are bowed, 

And near are the guards in their grief, 

Whilst the sweet-breathing incense is wreathing its 
cloud 

Over the motionless chief. 

But the organ and the singer have ceased, 

Leaving a void in the air, 

And the long-drawn chant of the blazon’d priest 
Rises in suppliance there. 

Again the deep organ shakes 
The walls with its mighty tone, 

And through it again the sweet melody breaks 
Like a sorrowful spirit’s moan. 

A sudden silence now: 

Each knee has sought the floor; 

The priest breathes his blessing with upturned 
brow, 

And the requiem is o’er. 


—Alfred B. Street. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


371 


LESSON CXXIII 

PART II—CHASTITY 

So dear to Heav’n is saintly Chastity, 

That when a soul is found sincerely so, 

A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 

Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 
And in clear dream, and solemn vision, 

Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear, 

Till oft converse with heav’nly habitants 
Begin to cast a beam on th’ outward shape, 

The unpolluted temple of the mind, 

And turns it by degrees to the soul’s essence, 

Till all be made immortal. 

— Milton. 


LESSON CXXIV 

the inchcape rock 

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea. 

The ship was still as she could be; 

Her sails from Heaven received no motion; 
Her keel was steady in the ocean. 

Without either sign or sound of their shock, 
The waves flow’d over the Inchcape Rock; 

So little they rose, so little they fell, 

They did not move the Inchcape Bell. 



37 2 Standard Literary Selections. 

The Abbot of Aberbrothok 

Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; 

On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, 
And over the waves its warning rung. 

When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell 
The mariners heard the warning bell; 

And then they knew the perilous Rock, 

And blest the Abbott of Aberbrothok. 

The sun in heaven was shining gay; 

All things were joyful on that day; 

The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled around, 
And there was joyance in their sound. 

The buoy on the Inchcape Bell was seen, 

A darker speck on the ocean green; 

Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck, 

And he fixed his eye on the darker speck. 

He felt the cheering power of spring; 

It made him whistle, it made him sing; 

His heart was mirthful to excess, 

But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness. 

His eye was on the Inchcape float: 

Quoth he, “My men, put out the boat, 

And row me to the Inchcape Rock 

And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok.” 

The boat is lower’d, the boatmen row, 

And to the Inchcape Rock they go; 

Sir Ralph bent over from the boat, 

And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


373 


Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound; 

The bubbles rose and burst around; 

Quoth Sir Ralph, “The next who comes to the Rock 
Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok.” 

Sir Ralph the Rover sail’d away; 

He scour’d the seas for many a day; 

And now grown rich with plunder’d store 
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore. 

So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky, 

They cannot see the sun on high; 

The wind hath blown a gale all day; 

At evening it hath died away. 

On the deck the Rover takes his stand; 

So dark it is, they see no land. 

Quoth Sir Ralph, “It will be lighter soon, 

For there is the dawn of the rising moon.” 

“Canst hear,” said one, “the breakers roar? 

For methinks we should be near the shore.” 

“Now where we are I cannot tell, 

But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell.” 

They hear no sound ; the swell is strong; 

Though the wind hath fallen, they drift along, 

Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock,— 
“Oh, Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!” 

Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; 

He curs’d himself in his despair; 

The waves rush in on every side; 

The ship is sinking beneath the tide. 


374 Standard Literary Selections. 

But, even in his dying fear, 

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear— 

A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell, 

The devil below was ringing his knell. 

—Robert Southey. 


LESSON CXXV 

THE FIRST LANGUAGE OF MAN 

The history of the comparative study of lan¬ 
guages presents the same features in the moral 
sciences which chemistry does among physical pur¬ 
suits. While the latter was engaged in a fruitless 
chase of the philosopher’s stone, or a remedy for 
every disease, the linguists were occupied in the 
equally fruitless search after the primary language. 
In the course of both inquiries, many important and 
unexpected discoveries were doubtless made; but it 
was not till a principle of analytical investigation 
was introduced in both, that the real nature of their 
objects was ascertained, and results obtained far 
more valuable than had first caused and encouraged 
so much toilsome application. 

The desire of verifying the Mosaic history, or 
the ambition of knowing the language first com¬ 
municated by.divine inspiration, was the motive or 
impulse of the old linguists’ chimerical research. For, 
it was argued, if it can only be shown that there 
exists some language which contains, as it were, the 
germ of all the rest, and forms a centre whence all 



Standard Literary Selections. 


375 


others visibly diverge, then the confusion of Babel 
receives a striking confirmation; for that language 
must have been once the common speech of man¬ 
kind. 

But here such a host of rivals entered the lists, 
and their conflicting pretensions were advanced with 
such assurance, or such plausibility, as rendered a 
satisfactory decision perfectly beyond hope. 

The Celtic language found a zealous patron in 
the learned Pezron; the claims of the Chinese were 
warmly advocated by Webb, and several other 
writers. Even in our own times—for the race of 
such visionaries is not yet extinct—Don Pedro de 
Astarloa, Don Thomas de Sorreguieta, and the Abbe 
d’lharce-Bidassouet-d’Aroztegui, have taken the 
field as champions of the Biscayan, with equal suc¬ 
cess as, in former times, the very erudite and un¬ 
wieldy Goropius Becanus brought up his native 
Low Dutch as the language of the terrestrial para¬ 
dise. 

Notwithstanding these ambitious pretensions, 
the Semitic languages, as they are called, that is, the 
languages of Western Asia, seemed to be the 
favoured claimants; but, alas! even here there was 
rivalry among the sisters. The Abyssinians boasted 
their language to be the mother stock, from which 
even Hebrew had sprung; a host of Syriac authors 
traced the lineal descent of their speech, through 
Heber, from Noah and Adam: but Hebrew was the 
pretender that collected the most numerous suf¬ 
frages in its favour. From the Antiquities of Jose- 
pheus, and the Targums, or Chaldee paraphrases of 
Onkelos and of Jerusalem, down to Anton in 1800, 


376 Standard Literary Selections. 

Christians and Jews considered its pretensions as 
almost definitely decided; and names of the high¬ 
est rank in literature—Lipsius, Scaliger, Bochart, 
and Vossius—have trusted the truth of many of 
their theories to the certainty of this opinion. 

The learned and judicious Molitor, however, who 
has brought an immense store of Rabbinical litera¬ 
ture to bear upon the demonstration of the Cath¬ 
olic religion, which he has embraced, acknowledges 
that “The Jewish tradition which makes Hebrew the 
language of the first patriarchs, and even of Adam, 
is, in its literal sense, inadmissible”; though he adds, 
very judiciously, that it is sufficient to acknowledge 
the inspiration of the Bible, for us to be obliged to 
confess that the language in which it is written is a 
faithful, though earthly, image of the speech of 
paradise; even as fallen man preserves some traces 
of his original greatness. 

—Cardinal Wiseman. 


LESSON CXXVI 

ODE ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE CAT 

’Twas on a lofty vase’s side, 

Where China’s gayest art had dyed 
The azure flowers that blow, 

Demurest of the tabby kind 
The pensive Selima, reclined, 

Gazed on the lake below. 



Standard Literary Selections. 377 

Her conscious tail her joy declared; 

The fair round face, the snowy beard, 

The velvet of her paws, 

Her coat that with the tortoise vies, 

Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes— 

She saw, and purred applause. 

Still had she gazed; but ’midst the tide 
Two angel forms were seen to glide, 

The Geneii of the stream: 

Their scaly armour’s Tyrian hue 
Through richest purple to the view 
Betrayed a golden gleam. 

The hapless nymph with wonder saw: 

A whisker first, and then a claw 
With many an ardent wish 
She stretched, in vain, to reach the prize— 
What female heart can gold despise ? 

What Cat’s averse to fish? 

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent 
Again she stretched, again she bent, 

Nor knew the gulf between: 

(Malignant Fate sat by, and smiled) 

The slippery verge her feet beguiled, 

She tumbled headlong in! 

Eight times emerging from the flood, 

She mewed to every watery god 
Some speedy aid to send. 

No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred, 

Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard— 

A favourite has no friend. 


378 Standard Literary Selections. 

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived, 

Know one false step is ne’er retrieved, 

And be with caution bold. 

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes 
And heedless hearts is lawful prize, 

Nor all that glisters gold. 

— Gray. 


LESSON CXXVII 

ODE ON ETON COLLEGE 

Ye distant spires, ye antique towers, 

That crown the watery glade, 

Where grateful Science still adores 
Her Henry’s holy shade; 

And ye, that from the stately brow 
Of Windsor’s heights the expanse below 
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey, 

Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among 
Wanders the hoary Thames along 
His silver-winding way: 


Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade! 

Ah, fields beloved in vain! 

Where once my careless childhood strayed, 
A stranger yet to pain! 

I feel the gales that from ye blow 
A momentary bliss bestow, 



Standard Literary Selections. 

As, waving fresh their gladsome wing 
My weary soul they seem to soothe, 

And, redolent of joy and youth, 

To breathe a second spring. 

Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen 
Full many a sprightly race 
Disporting on thy margent green 
The paths of pleasure trace; 

Who foremost now delight to cleave, 

With pliant arm, thy glassy wave? 

The captive linnet which enthral? 

What idle progeny succeed 
To chase the rolling circle’s speed, 

Or urge the flying ball? 

While some on earnest business bent 
Their murmuring labours ply 
’Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint 
To sweeten liberty: 

Some bold adventurers disdain - 
The limits of their little reign, 

And unknown regions dare descry: 

Still as they run they look behind, 

They hear a voice in every wind, 

And snatch a fearful joy. 

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed, 

Less pleasing when possest; 

The tear forgot as soon as shed. 

The sunshine of the breast: 


379 


380 Standard Literary Selections. 

Theirs buxom health of rosy hue, 

Wild wit, invention ever new, 

And lively cheer, of vigour born ; 

The thoughtless day, the easy night, 

The spirits pure, the slumbers light 
That fly the approach of morn. 

Alas! regardless of their doom, 

The little victims play; 

No sense have they of ills to come, 

Nor care beyond to-day: 

Yet see, how all around ’em wait 
The ministers of human fate, 

And black Misfortune’s baleful train! 
Ah, show them where in ambush stand, 
To sieze their prey, the murderous band: 
Ah, tell them they are men! 

These shall the fury Passions tear, 

The vultures of the mind, 

Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear, 

And shame that skulks behind; 

Or pining Love shall waste their youth, 

Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth, 

That inly gnaws the secret heart; 

And Envy wan, and faded Care, 
Grim-visaged, comfortless Despair, 

And Sorrow’s piercing dart. 

Ambition this shall tempt to rise, 

Then whirl the wretch from high, 

To bitter Scorn a sacrifice, 

And grinning Infamy. 


Standard Literary Selections. 381 


The stings of Falsehood those shall try, 

And hard Undkindness’ altered eye, 

That mocks the tear it forced to flow; 

And keen Remorse, with blood defiled, 

And moody Madness laughing wild 
Amid severest woe. 

• 

Lo! in the vale of years beneath 
A grisly troop are seen, 

The painful family of Death, 

More hideous than their queen: 

This racks the joints, this fires the veins, 

That every labouring sinew strains, 

Those in the deeper vitals rage: 

Lo! Poverty, to fill the band, 

That numbs the soul with icy hand, 

And slow-consuming Age. 

To each his sufferings: all are men, 

Condemned alike to groan; 

The tender for another’s pain, 

The unfeeling for his own. 

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate, 

Since sorrow never comes too late, 

And happiness too swiftly flies ? 

Thought would destroy their paradise. 

No more;—where ignorance is bliss, 

’Tis folly to be wise. 

— Gray. 


382 Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CXXVIII 

HYMN TO ADVERSITY 

Daughter of Jove, relentless power, 

Thou tamer of the human breast, 

Whose iron scourge and torturing hour 
The bad affright, afflict the best! 

Bound in thy adamantine chain, 

The proud are taught to taste of pain, 

And purple tyrants vainly groan 
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. 

When first thy sire to send on earth 
Virtue, his darling child, designed, 

To thee he gave the heavenly birth, 

And bade to form her infant mind. 

Stern, rugged nurse! thy rigid lore 
With patience many a year she bore: 

What sorrow was, thou bad’st her know, 

And from her own she learned to melt at others’ woe. 

Scared at thy frown terrific, fly 
Self-pleasing Folly’s idle brood, 

Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, 

And leave us leisure to be good. 

Light They disperse, and with them go 
The summer friend, the flattering foe; 

By vain Prosperity received, 

To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. 


Standard Literary Selections. 383 

Wisdom in sable garb arrayed, 

Immersed in rapturous thought profound, 

And Melancholy, silent maid, 

With leaden eye, that loves the ground, 

Still on thy solemn steps attend: 

Warm Charity, the general friend, 

With Justice, to herself severe, 

And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. 

Oh! gently on thy suppliant’s head, 

Dread goddess, lay thy chastening hand! 

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, 

Nor circled with the vengeful band 
(As by the impious thou art seen), 

With thundering voice, and threatening mien, 
With screaming Horror’s funeral cry, 

Despair, and fell Disease, and ghastly Poverty: 

Thy form benign, O goddess, wear, 

Thy milder influence impart, 

Thy philosophic train be there 

To soften, not to wound, my heart. 

The generous spark extinct revive, 

Teach me to love, and to forgive, 

Exact my own defects to scan, 

What others are to feel, and know myself a Man. 

— Gray. 


384 St&Ndard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CXXIX 

THE ASTRONOMICAL CLOCK OF STRASBURG 

(Part i) 

We have lately heard and read much of improve¬ 
ments in machinery and in the useful arts; of the 
wonderful progress of steam navigation, of rail¬ 
roads and electric telegraphs, of Yankee clocks and 
other ingenious Yankee notions; but we must be 
permitted to think that modern art has yet produced 
nothing to compare with the famous astronomical 
clock of Strasburg. It is truly the prodigy of mod¬ 
ern machinery, and one of the greatest wonders of 
the world. And we think that we cannot do any¬ 
thing more acceptable to our readers than simply 
to lay before them a summary description of this 
astonishing specimen of art. In doing so, we shall 
avail ourselves freely of the pamphlet mentioned 
below*, written by a son of the illustrious inventor 
and constructor of the clock. 

Strasburg has been for centuries famous for 
its clocks. During the last five hundred years, its 
cathedral has been decorated with three famous 
clocks, of which the present is by far the most won¬ 
derful. 

The first was commenced in the year 1352, and 
completed two years afterwards, under Bishop John 
de Lichtenberg. It was placed in the southern 
transept of the cathedral, directly opposite the site 

*A Brief Description of the Astronomical Clock of the Cathedral 
of Strasburg, by Charles Schwielgue. Strasburg, 1843. 12 mo.; pp. 70. 



Standard Literary Selections. 385 

of the present clock. The case was made entirely 
of wood. The hands of this clock indicated the 
movements of the sun and moon, as well as the 
hours and their subdivisions. Near the summit, 
there was placed a small statue of the Blessed Vir¬ 
gin, before which, at the hour of noon on each day, 
three other small statues, representing the three 
Magi, or wise men, made an inclination of the head, 
while a cock, perched on the top, crowed, at the same 
time flapping his wings and opening his mouth. 
There was also attached to this clock a chime of 
bells, which was set in motion by the machinery 
iltself. This oldest clock of Strasburg, which was 
certainly a prodigy for the time at which it was con¬ 
structed, was styled the clock of the three Magi. 
It seems to have continued running for nearly two 
hundred years. 

The second clock, called after the man who com¬ 
pleted it, that of Dasypodius, was begun in 1547; 
but, owing to the troubled state of Europe at that 
time, and the death of its original projectors, Michael 
Heer, Nicholas Bruckner and. Christian Heerlin, 
it did not begin to run till the 24th day of June, 
I 574- 

Dasypodius was a disciple of Heerlin, and he 
associated with him in the work some of the most 
ingenious machinists and expert mathematicians of 
Europe. Two brothers, Isaac and Josias Habrecht, 
from Schaffhousen, in Switzerland, superintended 
the mechanism, while another distinguished Swiss, 
from the same city, was charged with the execution 
of the painting and sculptures which were to deco¬ 
rate the monument. 


386 Standard Literary Selections. 

This clock was repaired for the first time in 1669, 
by Michael Issad Habrecht, the grandson of the as¬ 
sociate of Dasypodius; it was repaired a second time 
in 1732, by James Straubhaar, and it ceased to run 
in 1789, two hundred and fifteen years after its com¬ 
pletion. The cock perched on its summit, the only 
portion it had borrowed from the old clock of the 
Magi, continued to crow regularly at noon until 
1640; but having then been struck by lightning, it 
thought proper from this date to crow only on Sun¬ 
days and holidays; and it finally ceased to crow al¬ 
together in 1789, at the breaking out of the French 
revolution. It had crowed faithfully for four hun¬ 
dred and thirty-five years! 

Our space will not permit us to enter into a de¬ 
tailed description of this clock, which may be viewed 
as a fair representation of the progress made by 
astronomical science in the middle of the sixteenth 
century. As we design giving a detailed account of 
the present clock, which contains all the excel¬ 
lencies of its two predecessors, without their defects, 
and which superadds to their machinery many 
things both new and wonderful, our readers will 
pardon us for dismissing the clock of Dasypodius 
with the simple remark that its astrolabe or plane¬ 
tarium was constructed after the system of Ptolemy, 
that of Copernicus not having as yet obtained gen¬ 
eral acceptance among the learned. 

The present clock was commenced on the 24th 
of June, 1838 ; it commenced running on the 2d of 
October, 1842,. on the occasion of the tenth scientific 
congress of France, held at Strasburg, and it was 
solemnly inaugurated on the 31st day of December 


Standard Literary Selections. 387 

following. Its machinery is entirely new, and the 
only thing it retains of the old clock of Dasypodius 
are the case, some paintings, and a few small statues. 
It is entirely the invention of M. Schwielgue, and it 
is the noblest monument to his memory he could 
have left to posterity. The wonders of this clock 
almost stagger belief; but yet we are quite sure that 
there is no exaggeration in the “abridged descrip¬ 
tion,” which we must still further abridge for the 
benefit of our readers. We shall briefly describe 
each portion of the clock, beginning at the base, 
and proceeding to the summit; and, for the sake of 
method and clearness, we will number the differ¬ 
ent parts of our description. The clock consists of 
three distinct compartments, or towers, united at 
the base. 

1. The base of the clock is surrounded by an 
iron grate, of a delicate and tasteful texture, so con¬ 
structed as to enable the spectator to see the inter¬ 
nal machinery, and, a little further out, by a wooden 
balustrade, of a proper height to serve as a support 
to visitors. The intermediate space is reserved for 
persons who wish to enter into a more minute ex¬ 
amination of the internal machinery. 

2. The first thing you notice at the base of the 
clock is a celestial sphere, with a dial or clock-face 
and hands to indicate the sidereal time. The sphere 
is constructed of copper, and rests upon four beau¬ 
tiful metallic columns. It is adjusted to the merid¬ 
ian of Strasburg. All the fixed stars of the firma¬ 
ment, down to the sixth magnitude, inclusive, num¬ 
bering more than five thousand, are thereon repre¬ 
sented in their true and relative positions in the 


388 Standard Literary Selections. 

heavens; they are grouped together in one hundred 
and ten constellations, easily distinguishable from 
each other. The stars are painted on a blue ground, 
representing the blue vault of the heavens, and they 
are marked by Greek and Latin letters of the alpha¬ 
bet. The celestial sphere makes its revolution from 
east to west in a sidereal day, which is three minutes 
and fifty-six seconds less than a mean solar day. 

In its gradual movements around its axis, the 
sphere carries along with it the various circles with 
which it is surrounded—namely, the equator, the 
ecliptic, and the colures, while the two circles of the 
meridian and the horizon remain stationary. By its 
motion, it indicates the precise moment of the rising 
and setting of all the fixed stars visible to the naked 
eye at Strasburg; and it, at the same time, points 
out the precise position in the heavens of each of 
them at any given hour. 

But what is most remarkable about this sphere is 
the very nice machinery by which, in the revolutions 
of the equator and ecliptic, proper allowance is made 
for the precession of the equinoxes, a movement so 
very slow and almost imperceptible, that twenty- 
five thousand, eight hundred and four years would be 
required for a single revolution around the sphere! 
In no former instance, perhaps, has the mechanical 
art aimed at such exactness. 

3. Immediately behind the celestial sphere is 
found the compartment consecrated to the calendar , 
one of the most interesting and remarkable in the 
clock. A metallic band, in the form of a ring only 
nine inches in breadth to nearly twenty-nine feet in 
circumference, bears, marked on a gilt ground, all 


Standard Literary Selections. 389 

the indications of a perpetual calendar; the months, 
the dates, the dominical letters, the names of the 
saints, and all the fixed festivals of the Church. 
This ring, which is moveable, advances one division 
each day, the movement taking place exactly at the 
previous midnight. 

A figure representing Apollo stands at the right 
of the calendar, and, with an arrow which it holds 
in the hand, points to the day of the year, and to the 
name of the saint whose festival occurs on that day. 
The figure on the other side, a mere pendant to the 
one just named, represents Diana, the goddess of 
night. 

The calendar makes its annual revolution in 
three hundred and sixty-five or in three hundred 
and sixty-six days, according as the year is common 
or bissextile; and what is much more astonishing 
still, it reproduces the irregularity of the secular 
bissextiles—that is, it retrenches of itself three days 
in every four hundred years! Thus the date indi¬ 
cated by the calendar will always correspond with 
the new, or Gregorian style, introduced by Pope 
Gregory XIII. At midnight, between the 31st of 
December and the 1st of January, the calendar bears 
the inscription, beginning of the common year; but 
if the year about to begin be leap-year, the word 
common is dropped by the machinery, which at the 
same time intercalates a day between the 28th of 
February and the 1st of March! 

These combination are for an indefinite time, and 
will continue to be reproduced as long as the mate¬ 
rial of the clock will endure. 

—Archbishop Spaulding. 


390 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CXXX 

THE ASTRONOMICAL CLOCK OF STRASBURG 

(Part 2) 

But the calendar is so constructed as to indicate 
not only the fixed festivals, but also the moveable 
feasts, such as Easter, Ascension, Pentecost, Trinity, 
Corpus Christi, etc. All these moveable feasts 
place themselves in their proper places on the calen¬ 
dar, each year at midnight before the 1st of Janu¬ 
ary ; and once they have taken their places, they re¬ 
tain them till the beginning of the next year! Be¬ 
sides these moveable feasts, which depend on Easter, 
a particular machinery serves also to indicate the 
beginning of Advent, the quatre temps, and the 
feast of St. Arbogastus, the patron of Strasburg, 
which is very irregular, and falls always on a Sun¬ 
day within the last fortnight of July! 

Four statues, perfectly characteristic, executed 
by the chisel of Tobias Stimmer, occupy the four 
corners of this compartment. They represent Per¬ 
sia, Assyria, Greece, and Rome, the four monarchies 
of ancient history supposed to have been referred 
to by Daniel in his prophecy. 

4. The space within the annular calendar is en¬ 
tirely devoted to the indication of the apparent time 
—that is, of the time measured by the apparent 
movements of the sun and moon as we see them in 
the heavens. Every tyro in astronomy knows that 
the motion of the sun is not regular, or that the in¬ 
tervals between its successive passages of the merid- 


Standard Literary Selections. 


39i 


ian are not the same throughout the year. From 
this well-known irregularity, it results that a well- 
regulated clock will not always correspond with the 
apparent time indicated by the sun. The difference 
may sometimes amount to about sixteen minutes. 

The portion of the clock of which we are now 
speaking indicates the precise apparent time both of 
the sun and of the moon; and a mere glance at it 
and at the mean or clock time will show you the pre¬ 
cise equation of time, or the difference between the 
mean and the apparent time. The dial-plate which 
denotes this apparent time points out, 

1. The moment of the rising and setting of the 
sun. 

2. The apparent time at any period of the day 
or night. 

3. The apparent diurnal motion of the moon 
around the earth, with its apparent right ascension, 
and its passage of the meridian. 

4. The phases of the moon. 

5. Finally, the eclipses of the sun and moon. 

The hours of the rising and setting of the sun 

are indicated by a moveable horizon, which divides 
into parts the circle of the sun’s diurnal revolution, 
and which is so regulated by the machinery as to 
point out, on any day of the year, the precise, length 
of the day and of the night. Thus at the equinoxes, 
or on the 21st of March and the 20th of September, 
the division is equal, and at the tropical seasons, 
the inequality is greatest. The whole is, of course, 
constructed for the meridian of Strasburg. Due 
allowance is also made for the refraction of light, 


392 


Standard Literary Selections. 


which may cause an irregularity in the apparent 
time amounting to nearly three minutes. 

Two hands of the same color as the dial-plate 
upon which they are projected are terminated, one 
of them by a gilt disk surrounded by a halo of rays 
to represent the sun, and the other by a little globe 
of a silvery color to represent the moon. The size 
of these two representatations is proportionate to 
that of the sun and moon as seen by the eye, or to 
the mean apparent size of these two heavenly bodies ; 
and this circumstance renders them highly proper 
for the representation of eclipses both of the sun 
and of the moon. 

For this effect, the centre of the dial is occupied 
by a figure representing with exactness the hemi¬ 
sphere of the earth, of which Strasburg is supposed 
to be the meridian or vertical point, which hemi¬ 
sphere is placed so as to suit exactly the meridian of 
that city. Now every one knows that an eclipse of 
the sun is occasioned by the intervention of the moon 
between the earth and the sun, and by the shadow 
of the moon thus cast upon the earth, or a portion 
of it; and that, on the contrary, an eclipse of the 
moon takes place, in consequence of the earth inter¬ 
posing between the sun and the moon, and casting 
its shadow on the latter. All these phenomena are 
most beautifully represented by the portion of the 
clock we are describing. The machinery, in fact, 
exhibits a miniature representation of all the phe¬ 
nomena connected with eclipses; and it enables us 
easily to trace all the causes of those phenomena. 
The abstruse calculations of astronomers have thus 
been successfully applied to mechanics, or rather 


Standard Literary Selections. 


393 


they have been embodied and rendered palpable by 
the mechanical art. And what is most astonishing, 
is that in this, as in other things, the clock is con¬ 
structed for an indefinite period of time. 

5. It would lead us into too many dry scientific 
details, and would swell this paper to an unwarrant¬ 
able length, to unfold fully the basis, with the va¬ 
rious complicated parts, of this truly wonderful 
mechanism. And we must make the same remark 
in reference to the next portion of the clock, occu¬ 
pying the two spaces adjoining the calendar, and 
devoted to all the intricacies of the ecclesiastical 
computation of Easter, and the other moveable 
feasts of the Church. This computation gave rise 
to many animated controversies in the olden time, 
and it has puzzled many a wise mathematical head. 
The irregularities of the lunar motion, which forms 
the basis of this computation, are many, and ex¬ 
ceedingly intricate. But they did not for a moment 
deter the intrepid mechanical pioneer, Schwielgue, 
who, without any hesitation, seized upon and un¬ 
ravelled, by his beautiful clock machinery, all that 
intricate and cumbrous complication of cycles, golden 
numbers, dominical letters, Roman indications, Ju¬ 
lian periods, and epacts. There they are, all 
the singular elements of that curious computation, 
made visible to the eye, and plain to the lowest 
capacity! 

6. For the reason just indicated, we must dis¬ 
miss, with one or two words, that interesting por¬ 
tion of the clock placed on the other side of the 
calendar, to the right of the spectator, and devoted 
to the solar and lunar equations —that is, to the ex- 


394 


Standard Literary Selections. 


act computation of those irregularities of solar and 
lunar motion which we alluded to above. The 
mechanism here points out all the elements of these 
irregularities—namely, the equation of the centre, 
the evection, the variation, the annual equation, the 
reduction, and finally, the equation relative to the 
nodes of the moon. Those of our readers who un¬ 
derstand astronomy will easily comprehend the 
meaning of these several technicalities, and will be 
able to appreciate the exceeding delicacy of the 
calculations they involve. To those who have not 
dipped much in astronomy, we would barely say 
that we have not time just now to go into the neces¬ 
sary details, and that we had better pass on at once 
to something they will find more interesting. 

7. The portion immediately above the calendar 
is devoted to the days of the week. 

On an azure ground, made to represent the 
heavenly vault, successively appear, surrounded by 
clouds, the seven pagan divinities after whom the 
ancient planets were named. These allegorical fig¬ 
ures come forth, each on its own day of the week, 
in chariots of a light, graceful and classical form, 
bearing inscribed on the wheel the name of the di¬ 
vinity, and drawn by different animals, allegorical 
of the attributes ascribed to each one of the ancient 
poets. These cars move on a delicate aerial rail¬ 
road of a circular form. 

On Sunday, Apollo or Phoebus, the god of day, 
appears on a radiant car drawn by the horses of 
the sun. 

On Monday, the chaste Diana, the emblem of 


Standard Literary Selections. 


395 


the moon, makes her appearance on a car drawn by 
a stag with timid step. 

She is followed on Tuesday by Mars, the terri¬ 
ble god of war, whose car, drawn by a fiery charger, 
is ready to fly to the combat. 

On Wednesday is seen Mercury, the fleet mes¬ 
senger of the gods, bearing the wand and the purse. 

On Thursday appears Jupiter, the dread sover¬ 
eign of the gods, and the thunderer of Olympus, 
with his emblematic thunderbolt in hand. 

On Friday appears Venus, the goddess of beauty, 
accompanied by her son Cupid, in a light and co¬ 
quettish car drawn by tender doves. 

Finally, on Saturday appears Saturn, armed with 
a scythe, and on the point of devouring a child, a 
suitable emblem of time, which devours all things 
in its resistless and relentless course. 

On the two other sides of the compartment dedi¬ 
cated to the days of the week are very appropriately 
placed, as correctives, several pious paintings, by 
Tobias Stimmer, representing the grand scenes of 
the creation, of the resurrection, of the last judg¬ 
ment, and of the final triumph of faith and virtue. 
Placed in the same compartment are two beautiful 
allegorical pictures, representing virtue and vice, 
under two female figures, strongly contrasting with 
each other. These paintings qualify the pagan em¬ 
blems which they surround. 

8. We are not yet half done with the wonders 
of this most wonderful clock. Ascending the case 
of the clock, we next come to the gallery of lions, 
so called from the circumstance that its extremities 


396 Standard Literary Selections. 

are guarded by two massive lions, sculptured in 
wood, one holding in his claws the escutcheon, and 
the other the coat of arms of the city of Strasburg. 
These lions, taken from the old clock, seem never 
to have had any motion whatever. 

The middle of this gallery is occupied by a small 
dial-plate, with hands indicating the mean time— 
that is, time composed of hours, all of equal length, 
and the exact arithmetical mean between those of 
the longest and those of the shortest days of the 
year. 

These hands are moved directly by the central 
movement of the clock, while those indicating the 
sidereal and the apparent time above spoken of are 
moved by intermediate and special machinery, so 
constructed and arranged as to communicate to 
them the necessary irregularities of motion. 

9. On this gallery of lions you see, seated on 
each side of the dial-plate just mentioned, two 
geneii. The one on the left of the spectator holds 
a sceptre in one hand, and in the other a little ham¬ 
mer, with which he strikes the first stroke of each 
quarter of the hour. He does this with admirable 
gravity and dignity, as a signal to the regular strik¬ 
ers, of whom more anon. 

The genius seated on the other side holds in his 
two hands an hour-glass, filled with red sand, which 
he turns, with great ease and dexterity, every hour, 
just after the fourth quarter has struck. 

—Archbishop Spaulding. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


397 


LESSON CXXXI 

THE ASTRONOMICAL CLOCK OF STRASBURG 

(Part 3) 

Ten. Immediately above the gallery of lions is 
seen the planetarium, constructed according to the 
system of Copernicus. This exhibits all the appar¬ 
ent motions of the planets composing our system. 
The ground of the circular space occupied by it is 
azure, to represent the sky seen at a great distance. 
The centre is occupied by the sun, with his gilt disk, 
from which twelve rays proceed, indicating on the 
circumference of the dial the twelve signs of the 
zodiac. Seven small spheres, gilt, but differently 
shaded with clouds, placed at the proper relative 
distances from the sun, made of the proper relative 
sizes, and moving with the proper velocities, rep¬ 
resent the seven planets visible to the naked eye, 
in their respective motions around the sun. The 
planetarium thus exhibits an exact miniature of the 
real planetarium, as displayed in the heavens, with 
all its movements and phenomena regulated by 
clock machinery! And that nothing might be want¬ 
ing to its completeness, the motions of the moon are 
also included, both its motion around the earth and 
its motion around the sun along with the earth! 

At the four angles of the planetarium are painted 
under the expressive emblems of the four ages of 
the human life, the four seasons of the year. 

11. Immediately above the planetarium is seen, 


398 Standard Literary Selections. 

placed in the starry heavens, a large globe, destined 
to represent, in a conspicuous manner, the phases 
of the moon. This globe turns on its axis in a 
lunar month, and, the axis having the proper in¬ 
clination, its enlightened side increases or dimin¬ 
ishes in its apparent size to the eye, so as to repre¬ 
sent very accurately the lunar phases. 

At the same elevation are found two emblematic 
paintings, the one representing the Christian Church 
under the form of a beautiful female, with the in¬ 
scription, Ecclcsia Christi exulans; the other repre¬ 
senting anti-christ under the form of a hideous 
dragon, with seven heads, with the inscription, Ser¬ 
pens antiquus antichristus. 

12. Next comes the portion of the clock most 
striking to the eyes of the superficial observer, con¬ 
sisting of various little emblematic statues, which 
are automata, having each its own appropriate of¬ 
fice and motion. These little automata make their 
appearance in two distinct compartments, or ogee 
arcades, placed the one over the other. 

In the lower compartment appear successively 
four small statues, representing the four ages of 
the human family, childhood, youth, manhood, and 
old age. They appear every quarter of an hour, as 
follows: 

At the first quarter of each hour, immediately 
after the genius below has given the usual signal, 
the child makes his appearance, bearing a small 
javelin, with which he strikes the bell once. He is 
succeeded the next quarter by the youth, who, 
dressed as a hunter, strikes the half hour with his 


Standard Literary Selections. 


399 


arrow. Next comes the man, clad in a coat of mail, 
and armed with a sword, with which he strikes the 
three-quarters. Finally comes the old man, wrapped 
up in warm clothing, and bending over his crutch, 
which he, however, has strength enough to raise, in 
order to strike the four-quarters. 

Each of these little figures, on leaving its place, 
makes two steps forward, in order to reach the bell 
suspended in the middle of the arcade; it then 
pauses only long enough to discharge its office, 
when it retraces its steps, to make room for its 
successor. 

The hour is sounded by a hideous skeleton, rep¬ 
resenting death. This figure is stationary in the 
centre of the compartment, and is placed firmly on 
a strong footstool or pedestal. At each hour, im¬ 
mediately on the disappearance of the old man, this 
horrid spectre raises up its bony right hand, and 
strikes the hour slowly and heavily on the bell. It 
is armed with the appropriate scythe, and it pursues 
its work, day and night, with fearful regularity, 
while, by a singular freak in the machinery, the four 
ages suspend their operations during the night, to 
indicate the repose which is indispensable to all 
ages and classes of the human family! This sus¬ 
pension, which, like all the other wonderful evolu¬ 
tions of this most wonderful clock, is operated 
certainly, and without any noise, presents one of 
the most singular features in the mechanism. 

13. The upper compartment, much more richly 
decorated, is occupied by a figure of Jesus Christ, 
seated upon a throne in the middle, holding in one 


400 


Standard Literary Selections. 


hand the glorious banner of the redemption, and ex¬ 
tending the other in the act of imparting His bene¬ 
diction. 

Each day, immediately after death has done 
striking the hour of twelve, twelve figures, repre¬ 
senting the twelve apostles, each bearing the badge 
of his martyrdom, or some other distinctive emblem, 
form themselves into a procession, and present 
themselves at the feet of their divine Master, there 
making an appropriate salutation. On the depart¬ 
ure of the last apostles, Christ gives His benediction 
in the form of a cross! 

14. During the procession of the apostles, the 
cock, perched on the summit of the tower to the 
left of the spectator, entones his chant of victory, 
after first having flapped his wings, shaken his head 
and tail, and expanded his throat, like any other 
cock of them all! This cock is made after nature; 
it is as large as those which figured in the two pre¬ 
vious clocks, and it crows three times each day at 
noon, in memory of the chant which recalled Peter 
to repentance! 

15. The dome, which crowns the case of the 
clock, is as remarkable for the elegance of its form 
as for the richness of its ornaments. In the centre 
of it is placed a statue of Isaias the prophet, exe¬ 
cuted by the famous sculptor of Strasburg, M. 
Grass. Around it are grouped the statues of the 
four evangelists, accompanied by the four mysteri¬ 
ous emblematical animals of Ezekiel the prophet. 
A little above are seen four seraphim, who, on dif¬ 
ferent musical instruments, celebrate the praises 
of God. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


401 


16. The tower on the left, surmounted by the 
clock, is decorated with a number of paintings 
which belonged to the clock. The one highest up 
represents Urania, the muse which presides over 
astronomy; the second represents the huge colos¬ 
sus of Daniel the prophet, allegorical of the four 
monarchies; and the third is the portrait of Nicho¬ 
las Copernicus, the Catholic priest to whom astron¬ 
omy is so much indebted. 

17* The total height of the central or principal 
tower of the clock is about sixty-four English feet, 
while that of the other two is somewhat less. The 
dial, which looks out on the cathedral square, is of 
the enormous circumference of about fifty-one feet 
English. The hands of this dial are moved by the 
clock within the cathedral; they are of a beautiful 
gothic structure, and they indicate the hours with 
their subdivisions, and also the days of the week, 
in such a manner as to be clearly visible to persons 
in any part of the square. 

18. The clock is wound up once in eight days. 
It has but one principal movement, which is 
governed by a regulator, that beats the seconds; 
which regulator, in its turn, is regulated by a pen¬ 
dulum, and by an escapement garnished with pre¬ 
cious stones. This great central movement, not¬ 
withstanding the very small force which propels 
it, imparts direct motion to eight different depart¬ 
ments of the clock—to-wit: 1. To the hands be¬ 
longing to the dial denoting the mean time; 2. To 
those of the great Gothic dial; 3. To the planeta¬ 
rium; 4. To the globe representing the phases of 
the moon.; 5. To the seven figures representing the 


402 Standard Literary Selections. 

days of the week; 6. To the dial of the apparent 
time; 7. To the solar and lunar equations; and, 8. 
To the celestial sphere for the indication of the 
sidereal time! 

19. The other secondary movements, five in 
number, derive their motion from that of the centre, 
in a regular series, and according to a most simple 
and harmonious arrangement. Everything in the 
whole complicated machinery thus moves smoothly 
and harmoniously. No piece of wood, or of any 
other frail material, was used in the structure of the 
clock; but on the contrary, those metals were se¬ 
lected which were the hardest and most durable. 

20. Such are the principal wonders of the great 
clock of Strasburg, which we think our readers 
will agree with us in pronouncing the greatest tri¬ 
umph of modern mechanical art. To the Catholic, 
it must be a matter of honest pride, that this aston¬ 
ishing piece of mechanism is Catholic in its concep¬ 
tion, Catholic in its emblems, Catholic in its char¬ 
acteristic features, and Catholic in its execution. It 
has immortalized the name of schwielgue. 

—Archbishop Spaulding. 


LESSON CXXXII 

A CHRISTMAS CAROL 

The moon that now is shining 
In skies so blue and bright, 
bhone ages since on Shepherds 

Who watched their flocks by night. 



Standard Literary Selections. 

There was no sound upon the earth, 
The azure air was still, 

The sheep in quiet clusters lay 
Upon the grassy hill. 

When lo! a white-winged Angel 
The watchers stood before, 

And told how Christ was born on earth, 
For mortals to adore; 

He bade the trembling Shepherds 
Listen, nor be afraid, 

And told how in a manger 
The glorious Child was laid. 


When suddenly in the Heavens 
Appeared an Angel band, 

(The while in reverent wonder 
The Syrian Shepherds stand). 

And all the bright host chanted 
Words that shall never cease,— 
Glory to God in the highest, 

On earth good-will and peace! 

The vision in the heavens 
Faded, and all was still, 

And the wondering shepherds left their 
flocks, 

To feed upon the hill: 

Towards the blessed city 

Quickly their course they held, 

And in a lowly stable 

Virgin and Child beheld. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


m 


Beside a humble manger 

Was the Maiden Mother mild. 

And in her arms her Son divine, 

A new-born Infant smiled. 

No shade of future sorrow 
From Calvary then was cast; 

Only the glory was revealed, 

The suffering was not passed. 

The Eastern kings before him knelt, 

And rarest offerings brought; 

The Shepherds worshipped and adored 
The wonders God had wrought: 

They saw the crown for Israel’s King, 

The future’s glorious part:— 

But all these things the Mother kept 
And pondered in her heart. 

Now we that Maiden Mother 
The Queen of Heaven call; 

And the Child we call our Jesus, 

Saviour and Judge of all. 

But the star that shone in Bethlehem 
Shines still, and shall not cease, 

And we listen still to the tidings, 

Of glory and of peace. 

—Adelaide Anne Procter. 


Standard Literary Selections. 405 
LESSON CXXXIII 

APOPHTHEGMS 

Desire of Knowledge. —Dr. Johnson and I 
[Boswell] took a sculler at the Temple Stairs, 
and set out for Greenwich. I asked him if he really 
thought a knowledge of the Greek and Latin lan¬ 
guages an essential requisite to a good education. 
Johnson. “Most certainly, sir; for those who know 
them have a very great advantage over those who 
do not. Nay, sir, it is wonderful what a difference 
learning makes upon people even in the common in¬ 
tercourse of life, which does not appear to be much 
connected with it.” “And yet,” said I, “people go 
through the world very well, and carry on the busi¬ 
ness of life to good advantage without learning.” 
Johnson. “Why, sir, that may be true in cases 
where learning cannot possibly be of any use; for 
instance, this boy rows us as well without learning 
as if he could sing the song of Orpheus to the Ar¬ 
gonauts, who were the first sailors.” He then called 
to the boy, “What would you give, my lad, to know 
about the Argonauts?” “Sir,” said the boy, “I 
would give what I have.” Johnson was much 
pleased with his answer, and we gave him a double 
fare. Dr. Johnson then turning to me, “Sir,” said 
he, “a desire of knowledge is the natural feeling of 
mankind; and every human being, whose mind is 
not debauched, will be willing to give all that he has 
to get knowledge.”— Boswell, Life of Dr. Johnson. 

Canning and the Ambassador. —What dull 
coxcombs your diplomatists at home generally 


406 Standard Literary Selections. 

are! I remember dining at Mr. Frere’s once 
in company with Canning and a few other in¬ 
teresting men. Just before dinner, Lord-called 

on Frere, and asked himself to dinner. From the 
moment of his entry he began to talk to the whole 
party, and in French—all of us being genuine Eng¬ 
lish—and I was told his French was execrable. He 
had followed the Russian army into France, and 
seen a good deal of the great men concerned in the 
war; of none of those things did he say a word, but 
went on, sometimes in English and sometimes in 
French, gabbling about cookery and dress, and the 
like. At last he paused for a little—and I said a few 
words, remarking how a great image may be re¬ 
duced to the ridiculous and contemptible by bring¬ 
ing the constituent parts into prominent detail, and 
mentioned the grandeur of the deluge and the pres¬ 
ervation of life in Genesis and the “Paradise Lost,” 
and the ludicrous effect produced by Drayton’s de¬ 
scription in his “Noah’s Flood”: 

And now the beasts are walking from the wood, 

As well of ravine, as that chew the cud, 

The king of beasts his fury doth suppress, 

And to the ark leads down the lioness; 

The bull for his beloved mate doth low, 

And to the ark brings on the fair-eyed cow, etc. 


Hereupon Lord - resumed, and spoke in rap¬ 

tures of a picture which he had lately seen of Noah’s 
ark, and said the animals were all marching two 
and two, the little ones first, and that the elephants 
came last in great majesty and filled up the fore- 




Standard Literary Selections. 


407 


ground. “Ah! no doubt, my lord/’ said Canning. 
“Your elephants, wise fellows! stayed behind to 
pack their trunks!” This floored the ambassador 
for half-an-hour.— Coleridge, Table Talk . 

Henry Martin. —His speeches in the House 
were not long, but wondrous poignant, perti¬ 
nent, and witty. He was exceedingly happy in 
apt instances; he alone had sometimes turned the 
whole House. Making an invective speech one time 
against the old Sir Harry Vane, when he had done 
with him he said, But for young Sir Harry Vane — 
and so sat him down. Several cried out, “What have 
you to say to young Sir Harry?” He rises up; 
Why, if young Sir Harry lives to be old, he will be 
old Sir Harry! and so sat down, and set the whole 
House a laughing, as he often times did. Oliver 
Cromwell once in the House called him, jestingly 
or scofflngly, Sir Harry Martin. H. M. rises and 
bows, “I thank your Majesty; I always thought 
when you were king that I should be knighted.” 
A godly member made a motion to have all profane 
and unsanctified persons expelled the House. H. 
M. stood up, and moved that all fools should be put 
out likewise, and then there would be a thin 
House. He was wont to sleep much in the House 
(at least dog-sleep) ; Alderman Atkins made a 
motion that such scandalous members as slept and 
minded not the business of the House should be put 
out. H. M. starts up—“Mr. Speaker, a motion has 
been made to turn out the N odders; I desire the 
Noddees may also be turned out.”— Aubrey’s MSS. 


408 Standard Literary Selections. 

Perfection. —A friend called on Michael An¬ 
gelo, who was finishing a statue. Some time 
afterwards he called again; the sculptor was still at 
his work; his friend, looking at his figure, ex¬ 
claimed, “You have been idle since I saw you last.” 
“By no means,” replied the sculptor, “I have re¬ 
touched this part, and polished that; I have softened 
this feature, and brought out this muscle; I have 
given more expression to this lip, and more energy 
to this limb.” “Well, well,” said his friend, “but 
all these are trifles.” “It may be so,” replied Angelo, 
“but recollect that trifles make perfection, and that 
perfection is no trifle.”— Colton. 

Civil war. —When the civil war broke out, 
Lord Marshall had leave to go beyond the sea. Mr. 
Hollar went into the Low Countries,where he stayed 
till about 1649. I remember he told me, that when 
he first came into England (which was a serene 
time of peace) that the people, both rich and poor, 
did look cheerfully, but at his return, he found the 
countenances of the people all changed, melancholy, 
spiteful, as if bewitched.— Aubrey's MSS. 

Och clo. —The other day I was what you 
would call floored by a Jew. He passed me several 
times, crying for old clothes in the most nasal and 
extraordinary tone I ever heard. At last I was so 
provoked that I said to him, “Pray, why can’t you 
say, ‘old clothes’ in a plain way, as I do now ?” The 
Jew stopped, and looking gravely at me, said in a 
clear and even fine accent, “Sir, I can say ‘old 
clothes’ as well as you can; but if you had to say 


Standard Literary Selections. 409 

so ten times a minute, for an hour together, you 
would say, ‘Och Clo / as I do now”; and so he 
marched off. I was so confounded with the justice 
of his retort, that I followed and gave him a shilling, 
the only one I had.— Coleridge. 

Parliamentary despatch. — Mr. Popham, 
when he was Speaker, and the Lower House had 
sat long, and done in effect nothing, coming one 
day to Queen Elizabeth, she said to him, “Now, Mr. 
Speaker, what has passed in the Lower House?” 
He answered, “If it please your Majesty, seven 
weeks.”— Bacon. 

Opinions. —Charles the Fifth, when he ab¬ 
dicated a throne, and retired to the monastery of 
St. Juste, amused himself with the mechanical arts,' 
and particularly with that of a watchmaker. He 
one day exclaimed, “What an egregious fool must I 
have been to have squandered so much blood and 
treasure in an absurd attempt to make men think 
alike, when I cannot even make a few watches keep 
time together.”— Colton. 


LESSON CXXXIV 

QUARREL BETWEEN DEATH AND SATAN AT TIIE GATES 
OF HELL 

Tiie other shape, 

If shape it might be called that shape had none 
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb, 



4io 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Or substance might be called that shadow seemed, 
For each seemed either; black it stood as night, 
Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as .Hell, 

And shook a dreadful dart; what seemed his head 
The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 

Satan was now at hand; and from his seat 
The monster, moving onward, came as fast 
With horrid strides; Hell trembled as he strode. 

The undaunted fiend what this might be admired, 
Admired, not feared; God and his Son except, 
Created thing nought valued he, nor shunned; 

And with disdainful look thus first began: 

“Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, 

That dar’st, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
To yonder gates? Through them I mean to pass, 
That be assured, without leave asked of thee: 

Retire, or taste thy folly, and learn by proof, 
Hell-born, not to contend with spirits of Heaven.’ 

To whom the goblin, full of wrath, replied: 

“Art thou that traitor angel, art thou he, 

Who first broke peace in Heaven and faith, till then 
Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
Drew after him the third part of Heaven’s sons, 
Conjured against the Highest; for which both thou 
And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 
To waste eternal days in woe and pain? 

And reckon’st thou thyself with spirits of Heaven, 
Hell-doomed, and breath’st defiance here and scorn, 
Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, 

Thy king and lord? Back to thy punishment, 

False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings, 

Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 


Standard Literary Selections. 


411 


Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before.” 

So spake the grisly terror, and in shape, 

So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold 
More dreadful and deform: on the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified, and like a comet burned. 

That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 
In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 
Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
Levelled his deadly aim; their fatal hands 
No second stroke intend; and such a frown 
Each cast at the other, as when two black clouds, 
With Heaven’s artillery fraught, come rattling on 
Over the Caspian, then stand front to front, 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
To join their dark encounter in mid-air: 

So frowned the mighty combatants, that Hell 
Grew darker at their frown, so matched they stood; 
For never but once more was either like 
To meet so great a foe. And now great deeds 
Had been achieved, whereof all Hell had rung, 

Had not the snaky sorceress that sat 
Fast by Hell-gate, and kept the fatal key, 

Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. 

— Milton . 


412 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CXXXV 

DR. JOHNSON AND HIS TIMES 

Thus at the time when Johnson commenced his 
literary career, a writer had little hope from the 
patronage of powerful individuals. The patronage 
of the public did not yet furnish the means of com¬ 
fortable subsistence. The prices paid by booksellers 
to authors were so low that a man of considerable 
talents and unremitting industry could do little more 
than provide for the day which was passing over 
him. The lean kine had eaten up the fat kine. 
The thin and withered ears had devoured the good 
ears. The season of rich harvests was over, and the 
period of famine had begun. All that is squalid and 
miserable might now be summed up in the word 
poet. That word denoted a creature dressed like 
a scarecrow, familiar with compters and spunging 
houses, and perfectly qualified to decide on the com¬ 
parative merits of the Common Side in the King’s 
Bench Prison, and of Mount Scoundrel in the Fleet 
Even the poorest pitied him; and they well might 
pity him; for, if their condition was equally abject, 
their aspirings were not equally high, nor their 
sense of insult equally acute. To lodge in a garret 
up four pair of stairs, to dine in a cellar among 
footmen out of place, to translate ten hours a day 
for the wages of a ditcher, to be hunted by bailiffs 
from one haunt of beggary and pestilence to an¬ 
other,—from Grub Street to St. George’s Fields, 
and from St. George’s Fields to the alleys behind 


Standard Literary Selections. 


413 


St. Martin’s Church ; to sleep on a bulk in June, and 
amidst the ashes of a glass-house in December; to 
die in an hospital and be buried in a parish vault,— 
was the fate of more than one writer who, if he 
had lived thirty years earlier, would have been ad¬ 
mitted to the sittings of the Kit-cat or Scribblerus 
club, would have sat in Parliament, and would have 
been intrusted with embassies to the High Allies— 
who, if he had lived in our time, would have found 
encouragement scarcely less munificent in Albe¬ 
marle Street or in Paternoster Row. 

As every climate has its peculiar diseases, so 
every walk of life has its peculiar temptations. The 
literary character, assuredly, has always had its 
share of faults, vanity, jealously, morbid sensibility. 
To these faults were now superadded the faults 
which are commonly found in men whose livelihood 
is precarious, and whose principles are exposed to 
the trial of severe distress. All the vices of the 
gambler and of the beggar were blended with those 
of the author. The prizes in the wretched lottery 
of bookmaking were scarcely less ruinous than the 
blanks. If good fortune came, it came in such a 
manner that it was almost certain to be abused. 
After months of starvation and despair, a full third 
night or well-received dedication filled the pocket 
of the lean, ragged, unwashed poet with guineas. 
He hastened to enjoy those luxuries with the images 
of which his mind had been haunted while he was 
sleeping among the cinders and eating potatoes at 
the Irish ordinary in Shoe Lane. A week of tav¬ 
erns soon qualified him for another year of night- 
cellars. Such was the life of Savage, of Boyce, and 


414 Standard Literary Selections. 

of a crowd of others. Sometimes blazing in gold* 
laced hats and waistcoats; sometimes lying in bed 
because their coats had gone to pieces, or wearing 
paper cravats because their linen was in pawn; 
sometimes drinking champagne and tokay with 
Betty Careless; sometimes standing at the window of 
an eating-house in Porridge Island, to snuff up the 
scent of what they could not afford to taste;— they 
knew luxury; they knew beggary; but they never 
knew comfort. These men were irreclaimable. 
They looked on a regular and frugal life with the 
same aversion which an old gypsy or a Mohawk 
hunter feels for a stationary abode, and for the re¬ 
straints and securities of civilized communities. 
They were as untamable, as much wedded to their 
desolate freedom, as the wild ass. They could no 
more be broken into the offices of social men than 
the unicorn could be trained to serve and abide by 
the crib. It was well if they did not, like beasts 
of a still fiercer race, tear the hands which minis¬ 
tered to their necessities. To assist them was im¬ 
possible; and the most benevolent of mankind at 
length became weary of giving relief which was 
dissipated with the wildest profusion as soon as it 
had been received. If a sum was bestowed on the 
wretched adventurer, such as, properly husbanded, 
might have supplied him for six months, it was in¬ 
stantly spent in strange freaks of sensuality; and 
before forty-eight hours had elapsed, the poet was 
again pestering all his acquaintance for twopence 
to get a plate of shin of beef at a subterraneous 
cook-shop. If his friends gave him an asylum in 
their houses, those houses were forthwith turned 


Standard Literary Selections. 


415 


into bagnios and taverns. All order was destroyed; 
all business was suspended. The most good-na¬ 
tured host began to repent of his eagerness to serve 
a man of genius in distress, when he heard his guest 
roaring for fresh punch at five o’clock in the morn¬ 
ing. 

A few eminent writers were more fortunate. 
Pope had been raised above poverty by the active 
patronage which, in his youth, both the great polit¬ 
ical parties had extended to his Homer. Young 
had received the only pension ever bestowed, to the 
best of our recollection, by Sir Robert Walpole, as 
the reward of mere literary merit. One or two of 
the many poets who attached themselves to the Op¬ 
position, Thomson in particular, and Mallet, ob¬ 
tained, after much severe suffering, the means of 
subsistence from their political friends. Richard¬ 
son, like a man of sense, kept his shop, and his shop 
kept him, which his novels, admirable as they are, 
would scarcely have done. But nothing could be 
more deplorable than the state even of the ablest 
men, who at that time depended for subsistence on 
their writings. Johnson, Collins, Fielding, and 
Thomson were certainly four of the most distin¬ 
guished persons that England produced during the 
eighteenth century. It is well known that they 
were all four arrested for debt. 

Into calamities and difficulties such as these, 
Johnson plunged in his twenty-eighth year. From 
this time until he was three or four and fifty, we 
have little information respecting him—little, we 
mean, compared with the full and accurate informa¬ 
tion which we possess respecting his proceedings 


416 Standard Literary Selections. 

and habits towards the close of his life. He 
emerged at length from cock-lofts and six-penny 
ordinaries into the society of the polished and the 
opulent. His fame was established. A pension 
sufficient for his wants had been conferred on him; 
and he came forth to astonish a generation with 
which he had almost as little in common as with 
Frenchmen or Spaniards. 

In his early years he had occasionally seen the 
great; but he had seen them as a beggar. He now 
came amongst them as a companion. The demand 
for amusement and instruction had, during the 
course of twenty years, been gradually increasing. 
The price of literary labor had risen; and those 
rising men of letters with whom Johnson was hence¬ 
forth to associate were for the most part persons 
widely different from those who had walked about 
with him all night in the streets for want of lodging. 
Burke, Robertson, the Wartons, Gray, Mason, Gib¬ 
bon, Adam Smith, Beattie, Sir William Jones, Gold¬ 
smith and Churchill, were the most distinguished 
writers of what may be called the second generation 
of the Johnsonian age. Of these men Churchill 
was the only one in whom we can trace the stronger 
lineaments of that character which, when Johnson 
first came up to London, was common among au¬ 
thors. Of the rest, scarcely any had felt the pres¬ 
sure of severe poverty. Almost all had been early 
admitted into the most respectable society on an 
equal footing. They were men of quite different 
species from the dependents of Curll and Osborne. 

Johnson came among them the solitary specimen 
of a past age, the last survivor of the genuine race 


Standard Literary Selections. 417 

of Grub Street hacks; the last of that generation of 
authors whose abject misery and whose dissolute 
manners had furnished inexhaustible matter to the 
satirical genius of Pope. From nature he had re¬ 
ceived an uncouth figure, a diseased constitution, 
and an irritable temper. The manner in which the 
earlier years of his manhood had been passed had 
given to his demeanour, and even to his moral char¬ 
acter, some peculiarities appalling to the civilized 
beings who were the companions of his old age. 
The perverse irregularity of his hours, the slovenli¬ 
ness of his person, his fits of strenuous exertion, in¬ 
terrupted by long intervals of sluggishness, his 
strange abstinence and his equally strange voracity, 
his active benevolence, contrasted with the constant 
rudeness and the occasional ferocity of his manners 
in society, made him, in the opinion of those with 
whom he lived during the last twenty years of his 
life, a complete original. An original he was, un¬ 
doubtedly, in some respects; but, if we possessed 
full information concerning those who shared his 
early hardships, we should probably find that what 
we call his singularities of manner were, for the 
most part, failings which he had in common with 
the class to which he belonged. He ate at Streat- 
ham Park as he had been used to eat behind the 
screen at St. John’s Gate, when he was ashamed 
to show his ragged clothes. He ate as it was natural 
that a man should eat, who, during a great part of 
his life, had passed the morning in doubt whether 
he should have food for the afternoon. The habits 
of his early life had accustomed him to bear priva¬ 
tion with fortitude, but not to taste pleasure with 


!4i8 Standard Literary Selections. 

moderation. He could fast; but, when he did not 
fast, he tore his dinner like a famished wolf, with 
the veins swelling on his forehead, and the perspira¬ 
tion running down his cheeks. He scarcely ever 
took wine; but, when he drank it, he drank it 
greedily and in large tumblers. These were, in fact, 
mitigated symptoms of that same moral disease 
which raged with deadly malignity in his friends 
Savage and Boyce. The roughness and violence 
which he showed in society were to be expected 
from a man whose temper, not naturally gentle, had 
been long tried by the bitterest calamities, by the 
want of meat, of fire, and of clothes, by the importu¬ 
nity of creditors, by the insolence of booksellers, bv 
the derision of fools, by the insincerity of patrons, 
by that bread which is the bitterest of all food, by 
those stairs which are the most toilsome of all paths, 
by that hope deferred which makes the heart sick. 
Through all these things the ill-dressed, coarse, un¬ 
gainly pedant had struggled manfully up to emi¬ 
nence and command. 

— Macaulay. 


LESSON CXXXVI 

LETTER OF CONDOLENCE TO DR. LAWRENCE 

Dear Sir: —At a time when all your friends 
ought to show their kindness, and with a character 
which ought to make all that know you your friends, 



Standard Literary Selections. 419 

you may wonder that you have yet heard nothing 
from me. 

I have been hindered by a vexatious and inces¬ 
sant cough, for which within these ten days I have 
been bled once, fasted four or five times, taken 
physic five times, and opiate, I think six. This day 
it seems to remit. 

The loss, dear sir, which you have lately suf¬ 
fered, I felt many years ago, and know, therefore, 
how much has been taken from you, and how little 
help can be had from consolation. He that outlives 
a wife whom he has long loved, sees himself dis¬ 
jointed from the only mind that has the same hopes, 
and fears, and interest; from the only companion 
with whom he has shared much good or evil; and 
with whom he could set his mind at liberty, to re¬ 
trace the past or anticipate the future. The con¬ 
tinuity of being is lacerated; the settled course of 
sentiment and action is stopped; and life stands sus¬ 
pended and motionless, till it is driven by external 
causes into a new channel. But the time of sus¬ 
pense is dreadful. 

Our first recourse in this distressed solitude is, 
perhaps for want of habitual piety, to a gloomy ac¬ 
quiescence in necessity. Of two mortal beings, one 
must lose the other; but surely there is a higher and 
better comfort to be drawn from the consideration 
of that Providence which watches over all, and a 
belief that the living and the dead are equally in the 
hands of God, who will reunite those whom he has 
separated; or who sees that it is best not to re¬ 
unite.—I am, dear sir, your most affectionate and 
most humble servant, —Sam Johnson . 


420 


Standard Literary Selections. 


LESSON CXXXVII 

LETTER TO LORD CHESTERFIELD. 

My Lord :—I have been lately informed, by the 
proprietor of the World, that two papers, in which 
my Dictionary is recommended to the public, were 
written by your lordship. To be so distinguished 
is an honour which, being very little accustomed to 
favours from the great, I know not well how to re¬ 
ceive, or in what terms to acknowledge. 

When, upon some slight encouragement, I first 
visited your lordship I was overpowered, like the 
rest of mankind, by the enchantment of your ad¬ 
dress, and could not forbear to wish that I might 
boast myself Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la 
terre;—that I might obtain that regard for which I 
saw the world contending; but I found my attend¬ 
ance so little encouraged, that neither pride nor 
modesty will suffer me to continue it. When I had 
once addressed your lordship in public, I had ex¬ 
hausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and 
uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that 
I could; and no man is well pleased to have his all 
neglected, be it ever so little. 

Seven years, my lord, have now passed since I 
waited in your outward rooms, or was repulsed 
from your door; during which time I have been 
pushing on my work through difficulties, of which 
it is useless to complain, and have brought it at last 
to the verge of publication, without one act of assist¬ 
ance, one word of encouragement, or one smile of 


Standard Literary Selections. 421 

favour. Such treatment I did not expect, for I 
never had a patron before. 

The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted 
with Love, and found him a native of the rocks. 

Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with un¬ 
concern on a man struggling for life in the water, 
and, when he has reached the ground, encumbers 
him with help ? The notice which you have been 
pleased to take of my labours, had it been early, had 
been kind; but it has been delayed till I am indiffer¬ 
ent, and cannot enjoy it; till I am solitary, and can¬ 
not impart it; till I am known, and do not want it. 
I hope it is no very cynical asperity, not to confess 
obligations where no benefit has been received, or 
to be unwilling that the public should consider me 
as owing that to a patron which Providence has 
enabled me to do for myself. 

Having carried on my work thus far with so 
little obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall 
not be disappointed though I shall conclude it, if less 
be possible, with less; for I have been long wakened 
from that dream of hope, in which I once boasted 
myself with so much exultation, my lord, your lord¬ 
ship’s most humble, most obedient servant, 

—Sam Johnson. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


422 


LESSON CXXXVIII 

MAN WAS MADE TO MOURN 

When chill November’s surly blast 
Made fields and forests bare, 

One ev’ning, as I wander’d forth 
Along the banks of Ayr, 

I spied a man, whose aged step 
Seem’d weary, worn with care; 

His face was furrow’d o’er with years, 
And hoary was his hair. 


“Young stranger, whither wandrest thou?’’ 

Began the reverend sage; 

“Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain, 
Or youthful pleasure’s rage ? 

Or haply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me to mourn 
The miseries of man! 


“The sun that overhangs yon moors, 
Out-spreading far and wide, 
Where hundreds labour to support 
A haughty lordling’s pride;— 
I’ve seen yon weary winter-sun 
Twice forty times return ; 

And ev’ry time has added proofs, 
That man was made to mourn. 


Standard Literary Selections. 

“O man! while in thy early years, 

How prodigal of time! 

Mis-spending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime! 

Alternate follies take the sway, 
Licentious passions burn; 

Which tenfold force gives nature’s law, 
That man was made to mourn. 

“Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood’s active might; 

Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported is his right: 

But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows worn; 

Then age and want—oh! ill-match’d pair— 
Show man was made to mourn. 

“A few seem favourites of fate, 

In pleasure’s lap carest; 

Yet, think not all the rich and great 
Are likewise truly blest. 

But oh! what crowds in ev’ry land. 

All wretched and forlorn, 

Thro’ weary life this lesson learn, 

That man was made to mourn. 

“Many and sharp the num’rous ills 
Inwoven with our frame! 

More pointed still we make ourselves, 
Regret, remorse, and shame! 


424 


Standard Literary Selections. 


And man, whose heaven-erected face 
The smiles of love adorn,— 

Man’s inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands mourn! 

“See yonder poor, oerlabour’d wight, 
So abject, mean, and vile, 

Who begs a brother of the earth 
To give him leave to toil; 

And see his lordly fellow-worm 
The poor petition spurn, 

Unmindful, tho’ a weeping wife 
And helpless offspring mourn. 

“If I’m design’d yon lordling’s slave— 
By nature’s law design’d— 

Why was an independent wish 
E’er planted in my mind ? 

If not, why am I subject to 
His cruelty or scorn? 

Or why has man the will and pow’r 
To make his fellow mourn? 


“Yet. let not this too much, my son, 
Disturb thy youthful breast; 

This partial view of human-kind 
Is surely not the last! 

The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 

Had there not been some recompense 
To comfort those that mourn! 


Standard Literary Selections. 425 

a O Death ! the poor man’s dearest friend, 

The kindest and the best; 

Welcome the hour my aged limbs 
Are laid with thee at rest! 

The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow, 

From pomp and pleasure torn; 

But, oh! a blest relief to those 
That weary-laden mourn!” 

— Burns. 


LESSON CXXXIX 

THE TRIAL OF WARREN HASTINGS 

The preparations for the trial had proceeded 
rapidly; and, on the 13th of February, 1788, the sit¬ 
tings of the court commenced. There have been 
spectacles more dazzling to the eye, more gorgeous 
with jewelry and cloth of gold, more attractive to 
grown-up children, than that which was then ex¬ 
hibited at Westminster; but, perhaps, there never 
was a spectacle so well calculated to strike a highly 
cultivated, a reflecting, an imaginative mind. All 
the various kinds of interest which belong to the 
near and to the distant, to the present and to the 
past, were collected on one spot, and in one hour. 

All the talents and all the accomplishments 
which are developed by liberty and civilization were 
now displayed, with every advantage that could be 
derived both from* cooperation and from contrast. 
Every step in the proceedings carried the mind 



426 Standard Literary Selections. 

either backward, through many troubled centuries, 
to the days when the foundations of the constitu¬ 
tion were laid; or far away, over boundless seas and 
deserts, to dusky nations living under strange stars, 
worshipping strange gods, and writing strange 
characters from right to left. The high court of 
Parliament was to sit, according to forms handed 
down from the days of the Plantagenets, on an 
Englishman accused of exercising tyranny over the 
lord of the holy city of Benares, and the ladies of 
the princely house of Oude. 

The place was worthy of such a trial. It was 
the great hall of William Rufus; the hall which had 
resounded with acclamations at the inauguration of 
thirty kings; the hall which had witnessed the just 
sentence of Bacon and the just absolution of 
Somers; the hall where the eloquence of Strafford 
had for a moment awed and melted a victorious 
party inflamed with just resentment; the hall where 
Charles had confronted the high court of justice 
with the placid courage that has half redeemed his 
fame. 

Neither military nor civil pomp was wanting. 
The avenues were lined with grenadiers. The 
streets were kept clear by cavalry. The peers, robed 
in gold and ermine, were marshalled by the heralds 
under Garter King-at-arms. The judges, in their 
vestments of state, attended to give advice on points 
of law. Near a hundred and seventy lords, three- 
fourths of the upper house, as the upper house then 
was, walked in solemn order in their usual place of 
assembling to the tribunal. The j'unior baron present 
led the way—Lord Heathfield, recently ennobled 


Standard Literary Selections. 427 

for his memorable defence of Gibraltar against 
the fleets and armies of France and Spain. The 
long procession was closed by the Duke of Norfolk, 
earl-marshal of the realm, by the great dignitaries, 
and by the brothers and sons of the king. Last of 
all came the Prince of Wales, conspicuous by his 
fine person and noble bearing. 

The gray old walls were hung with scarlet. The 
long galleries were crowded by such an audience as 
has rarely excited the fears or the emulation of an 
orator. There were gathered together, from all 
parts of a great, free, enlightened, and prosperous 
realm, grace and female loveliness, wit and learning, 
the representatives of every science and of every art. 

There were seated around the queen the fair¬ 
haired young daughters of the house of Brunswick. 
There the ambassadors of great kings and common¬ 
wealths gazed with admiration on a spectacle which 
no other country in the world could present. There 
the historian of the Roman empire thought of the 
days when Cicero pleaded the cause of Sicily 
against Verres; and when, before a senate which 
had still some show of freedom, Tacitus thundered 
against the oppressor of Africa. 

There were seen, side by side, the greatest painter 
and the greatest scholar of the age. The spectacle 
had allured Reynolds from that easel which has 
preserved to us the thoughtful foreheads of so many 
writers and statesmen, and the sweet smiles of so 
many noble matrons. It had induced Parr to sus¬ 
pend his labours in that dark and profound mine 
from which he had extracted a vast treasure of eru¬ 
dition—a treasure too often buried in the earth, too 


428 Standard Literary Selections. 

often paraded with injudicious and inelegant osten¬ 
tation ; but still precious, massive and splendid. 

The sergeants made proclamation. Hastings 
advanced to the bar, and bent his knee. The culprit 
was indeed not unworthy of that great presence. 
He had ruled an extensive and populous country, 
had made laws and treaties, had sent forth armies, 
had set up and pulled down princes. And in his 
high place he had so borne himself, that all had 
feared him, that most had loved him, and that ha¬ 
tred itself could deny him no title to glory, except 
virtue. 

He looked like a great man, and not like a bad 
man. A person small and emaciated, yet deriving 
dignity from a carriage which, while it indicated 
deference to the court, indicated also habitual self- 
possession and self-respect; a high and intellectual 
forehead; a brow pensive, but not gloomy; a mouth 
of inflexible decision; a face pale and worn, but 
serene, on which was written, as legibly as under 
the great picture in the council-chamber at Calcutta, 
Mens aequa in ardnis ; such was the aspect with 
which the great proconsul presented himself to his 
judges. 

But neither the culprit nor his advocates at¬ 
tracted so much notice as the accusers. In the midst 
of the blaze of red drapery, a space had been fitted 
up with green benches and tables for the commons. 
The managers, with Burke at their head, appeared 
in full dress. The collectors of gossip did not fail 
to remark that even Fox, generally so regardless of 


Standard Literary Selections. 


429 


his appearance, had paid to the illustrious tribunal 
the compliment of wearing a bag and sword. 

Pitt had refused to be one of the conductors of 
the impeachment; and -his commanding, copious, 
and sonorous eloquence was wanting to the great 
muster of various talents. Age and blindness had 
unfitted Lord North for the duties of a public prose¬ 
cutor ; and his friends were left without the help of 
his excellent sense, his tact, and his urbanity. But 
in spite of the absence of these two distinguished 
members of the lower house, the box in which the 
managers stood contained an array of speakers such 
as perhaps had not appeared together since the great 
age of Athenian eloquence. 

There stood Fox and Sheridan, the English De¬ 
mosthenes and the English Hyperides. There was 
Burke, ignorant, indeed, or negligent of the art of 
adapting his reasonings and his style to the capacity 
and taste of his hearers; but, in aptitude of com¬ 
prehension, and richness of imagination, superior to 
every orator, ancient or modern. There, with eves 
reverently fixed on Burke, appeared the finest gen¬ 
tleman of the age; his form developed by every 
manly exercise, his face beaming with intelligence 
and spirit, the ingenuous, the high-souled Windham. 

Sts******* 

The charges and answers of Hastings were first 
read. This ceremony occupied two whole days, and 
was rendered less tedious than it would otherwise 
have been by the silver voice and just emphasis of 
Cowper, the clerk of the court, a near relation of 
the amiable poet. 

On the third day Burke arose. Four sittings of 


430 


Standard Literary Selections. 


the court were occupied by his opening speech, 
which was intended to be a general introduction to 
all the charges. With an exuberance of thought and 
a splendour of diction which more than satisfied the 
highly-raised expectation of the audience, he de¬ 
scribed the character and institutions of the natives 
of India; recounted the circumstances in which the 
Asiatic empire of Britain had originated; and set 
forth the constitution of the company, and of the 
English presidencies. 

Having thus attempted to communicate to his 
hearers an idea of Eastern society, as vivid as that 
which existed in his own mind, he proceeded to 
arraign the administration of Hastings, as systemat¬ 
ically conducted in defiance of morality and public 
law. The energy and pathos of the great orator ex¬ 
torted expressions of unwonted admiration even 
from the stern and hostile chancellor; and, for a 
moment, seemed to pierce even the resolute heart of 
the defendant. The ladies in the galleries, unaccus- 
timed to such display of eloquence, excited by the 
solemnity of the occasion, and perhaps not unwill¬ 
ing-to display their taste and sensibility, were in a 
state of uncontrollable emotion. Handkerchiefs were 
pulled out; smelling bottles were handed around; 
hysterical sobs and screams were heard. 

At- length the orator concluded. Raising his 
voice till the old arches of Irish oak resounded: 
“Therefore,” said he, “hath it with all confidence 
been ordered by the Commons of Great Britian, that 
I impeach Warren Hastings of high crimes and mis¬ 
demeanours. I impeach him in the name of the Com¬ 
mons’ House of Parliament, whose trust he has be- 


Standard Literary Selections. 


43i 


trayed. I impeach him in the name of the English 
nation, whose ancient honour he has sullied. I im¬ 
peach him in the name of the people of India, whose 
rights he has trodden under foot, and whose country 
he has turned into a desert. Lastly in the name of 
human nature itself, in the name of both sexes, in 
the name of every age, in the name of every rank, 
I impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all !” 

—Lord Macaulay. 


LESSON CXL 

CONTRAST BETWEEN THE MATERIAL AND MORAL 
WORLDS 

We have familiar experience of the order, the 
constancy, the perpetual renovation of the material 
world which surrounds us. Frail and transitory as 
is every part of it, restless and migratory as are its 
elements, never-ceasing as are its changes, still it 
abides. It is bound together by a law of per¬ 
manence, it is set up in unity; and though it is ever 
dying, it is ever coming to life again. Dissolution 
does but give birth to fresh modes of organization, 
and one death is the parent of' a thousand lives. 
Each hour, as it comes, is but a testimony how fleet¬ 
ing, yet how secure, how certain, is the great whole. 
It is like an image on the waters, which is ever the 
same, though the waters ever flow. Change upon 
change—yet one change cries out to another, like 
the alternate Seraphim, in praise and in glory of 




432 


Standard Literary Selections. 


their Maker. The sun sinks to rise again; the day 
is swallowed up in the gloom of night, to be born 
out of it, as fresh as if it never had been quenched. 
Spring passes into summer, and through summer 
and autumn into winter, only the more surely, by its 
own ultimate return, to triumph over that grave 
towards which it resolutely hastened from its first 
hour. We mourn over the blossoms of May, be¬ 
cause they are to wither; but we know, withal, that 
May is one day to have its revenge upon Novem¬ 
ber, by the revolution of that solemn circle which 
never stops—which teaches us in our height of 
hope ever to be sober, and in our depth of desola¬ 
tion never to despair. 

And forcibly as this comes home to every one of 
us, not less forcible is the contrast which exists be¬ 
tween this material world, so vigourous, so reproduc¬ 
tive, amid all its changes, and the moral world, so 
feeble, so downward, so resourceless, amid all its 
aspirations. That which ought to come to nought, 
endures; that which promises a future, disappoints, 
and is no more. The same sun shines in heaven 
from first to last, and the blue firmament, the ever¬ 
lasting mountains, reflect his rays; but where is there 
upon earth the champion, the hero, the lawgiver, the 
body politic, the sovereign race, which was great 
three hundred years ago, and is great now ? Moral¬ 
ists and poets, often do they descant upon this innate 
vitality of matter, this innate perishableness of mind. 
Man rises to fall; he tends to dissolution from the 
moment he begins to be: he lives on, indeed, in his 
children, he lives on in his name, he lives not in his 
own person. He is, as regards the manifestations of 


Standard Literary Selections. 


433 


his nature here below, as a bubble that breaks, and 
as water pouied out upon earth. He was young, he 
is old, he is never young again. This is the lament 
over him, poured forth in verse and in prose, by 
Christian and by heathen. The greatest work of 
God’s hands under the sun, he, in all the manifes¬ 
tations of his complex being, is born only to die. 

His bodily frame first begins to feel the power 
of his constraining law, though it is the last to 
succumb to it. We look at the bloom of youth with 
interest, yet with pity; and the more graceful and 
sweet it is, with pity so much the more; for, what¬ 
ever be its excellence and its glory, soon it begins to 
be deformed and dishonoured by the very force of 
its living on. It grows into exhaustion and col¬ 
lapse, till at length it crumbles into that dust out of 
which it was originally taken. 

So is it, too, with our moral being, a far higher 
and diviner portion of our natural constitution; it 
begins with life, it ends with what is worse than the 
mere loss of life, with a living death. How beauti¬ 
ful is the human heart, when it puts forth its first 
leaves, and opens and rejoices in the spring-tide. 
Fair as may be the bodily form, fairer far, in its 
green foliage and bright blossoms, is natural virtue. 
It blooms in the young heart like some rich flower, 
so delicate, so fragrant, and so dazzling. Generos¬ 
ity and lightness of heart and amiableness, the con¬ 
fiding spirit, the gentle temper, the elastic cheerful¬ 
ness, the open hand, the pure affection, the noble as¬ 
piration, the heroic resolve, the romantic pursuit, 
the love in which self has no part—are not these 
beautiful? And are they not dressed up and set 


434 Standard Literary Selections. 

forth for admiration in their best shapes, in tales 
and in poems ? And, ah ! what a prospect of good is 
there! who could believe that it is to fade! and yet, 
as night follows upon day, as decrepitude follows 
upon health, so surely are failure, and overthrow, 
and annihilation, the issue of this natural virtue, if 
time only be allowed to run its course. There are 
those who are cut off in the first opening of this 
excellence, and then if we may trust their epitaphs, 
they have lived like angels; but wait a while; let 
them live on, let the course of life proceed, let the 
bright soul go through the fire and water of the 
world’s temptations, and seductions and corruptions 
and transformations; and, alas for the insufficiency 
of nature! alas for its powerlessness to persevere, 
its waywardness in disappointing its own promise! 
Wait till youth has become age; and not more dif¬ 
ferent is the minature which we have of him when 
a boy, when every feature spoke of hope, put side 
by side of the large portrait painted to his honour 
when he is old, when his limbs are shrunk, his eye 
dim, his brow furrowed, and his hair gray, than dif¬ 
fers the moral grace of that boyhood from the for¬ 
bidden and repulsive aspect of his soul, now that he 
has lived to the age of a man. For moroseness, and 
misanthropy, and selfishness-, is the ordinary winter 
of that spring. 


— Dr. Newman. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


435 


LESSON CXLI 
lochiel’s warning 

Wizard.— Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day 
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array; 
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, 

And the clans of Culloden are scatter’d in flight: 
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and 
crown;— 

Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! 
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, 
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. 
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightnings of 
war, 

What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 

Tis thine, O Glenullen! whose bride shall await, 
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. 
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; 

But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 

Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led! 

Oh, weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead: 
For a merciless sword o’er Culloden shall wave, 
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. 


Lochiel. —Go preach to the coward, thou death- 
telling seer! 

Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 

Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight 
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright! 


c \$6 Standard Literary Selections. 

Wizard. —Ha! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision 
to scorn? 

Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be 
torn! 

Say, rush’d the bold eagle exultingly forth 
From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the 
North! 

Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode 
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; 

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! 

Ah! home let him speed,—for the spoiler is nigh. 
Why flames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 
’Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of heaven, 
O crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, 

Whose banners arise on the battlements’ height, 
Heaven’s fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; 
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! 

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
And a wild mother scream o’er her famishing brood. 

Lochiel. —False wizard, avaunt! I have mar- 
shall’d my clan: 

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! 
They are true to the last of their blood and their 
breath, 

And, like reapers, descend to the harvest of death. 
Then welcome be Cumberland’s steed to the shock! 
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the 
rock! 

But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, 
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; 


Standapd Literary Selections. 437 

When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, 
Clan Ronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud. 
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array— 

Wizard. —Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day! 
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal; 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal: 

Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 

And coming events cast their shadows before. 

I tell thee, Culloden’s dread echoes shall ring 
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive 
king. 

Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! 

Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my 
sight; 

Rise ! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 
Tis finished. Their thunders are hush’d on the 
moors; 

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores: 

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? where? 

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish’d, forlorn, 
Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn ? 
Ah, no! for a darker departure is near; 

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; 

His death-bell is tolling! O mercy! dispel 
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! 

Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs, 

And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. 
Accursed be the faggots that blaze at his feet, 
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, 
With the smoke of its ashes to poison tne gale— 


43^ Standard Literary Selections. 

Lochiel. —Down, soothless insulter! I trust not 
the tale! 

For never shall Albin a destiny meet 
So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. 
Though my perishing ranks should be strew’d in 
their gore, 

Like ocean-weeds heap’d on the surf-beaten shore, 
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, 
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, 

With his back to the field and his feet to the foe! 
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, 

Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of 
fame! 

— Campbell. 


LESSON CXLII 
cardinal wolsey 
Nay then, farewell! 

I have touched the highest point of all my greatness, 
And from that full meridian of my glory, 

I haste now to my setting: I shall fall 
Like a bright exhalation in the evening, 

And no man see me more. 

* * * 

So, farewell to the little good you bear me. 
Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! 

This is the state of man:—to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, 



Standard Literary Selections. 439 

And bears his blushing honours thick upon him; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost; 

And,—when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 
His greatness is a ripening,—nips his root, 

And then he falls as I do. I have ventured, 

Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
These many summers in a sea of glory; 

But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride 
At length broke under me, and now has left me, 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream that must forever hide me. 

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye! 

I feel my heart new opened. Oh! how wretched 
Is that poor man that hangs on princes’ favours! 
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, 
That sweet aspect of princes and their ruin, 

More pangs and fears than wars or women have; 
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 

Never to hope again. 

* * * 

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear 
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me, 

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman. 

Let’s dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; 
And,—when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull, cold marble, where no mention 
Of me more must be heard of—say I taught thee,— 
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory, 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour, 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; 

A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 
Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me: 


440 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; 

By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then, 

The image of his Maker, hope to win by’t ? 

Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee ; 
Corruption wins not more than honesty. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 
Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, 

Thy God’s, and truth’s; then, if thou fall’st, O 
Cromwell! 

Thou fall’st a blessed martyr! Serve the king; 

And,—Pr’ythee, lead me in : 

There, take an inventory of all I have, 

To the last penny; ’tis the King’s;—my robe, 

And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell! 
Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my King, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies. 

Crom. —Good sir, have patience. 

Wol. —So I have. Farewell 
The hopes of Court! my hopes in Heaven do dwell. 

— Shakspeare. 


LESSON CXLIII 

from Washington’s farewell address 

Here, perhaps, I ought to stop. But a solicitude 
for your welfare which cannot end but with my life, 
and the apprehension of danger natural to that 
solicitude, urge me on an occasion like the present 



Standard Literary Selections. 


441 


to offer to your solemn contemplation and to recom¬ 
mend to your frequent review some sentiments 
which are the result of much reflection, of no incon¬ 
siderable observation, and which appear to me all 
important to the permanency of your felicity as a 
people. These will be offered to you with the more 
freedom as you can only see in them the disinterested 
warnings of a parting friend, who can possibly have 
no personal motive to bias his counsel. Nor can I 
forget, as an encouragement to it, your indulgent 
reception of my sentiments on a former and not dis¬ 
similar occasion. Interwoven as is the love of lib¬ 
erty with every ligament of your hearts, no recom¬ 
mendation of mine is necessary to fortify or confirm 
the attachment. 

While, then, every part of our country thus feels 
an immediate and particular interest in union, all 
the parts combined cannot fail to find in the united 
mass of means and efforts greater strength, greater 
resource, proportionably greater security from ex¬ 
ternal danger, a less frequent interruption of their 
peace by foreign nations, and, what is of inestimable 
value, they must derive from union an exemption 
from those broils and wars between themselves 
which so frequently afflict neighboring countries not 
tied together by the same governments, which their 
own rivalships alone would be sufficient to produce, 
but which opposite foreign alliances, attachments, 
and intrigues would stimulate and embitter. Hence, 
likewise, they will avoid the necessity of those over¬ 
grown military establishments which, under any 
form of government, are inauspicious to liberty, and 
which are to be regarded as particularly hostile to 


44? Standard Literary Selections. 

republican liberty. In this sense it is that your 
union ought to be considered as a main prop of 
your liberty, and that the love of the one ought to 
endear to you the preservation of the other. 

Though in reviewing the incidents of my Admin¬ 
istration I am unconscious of intentional error, I 
am nevertheless too sensible of my defects not to 
think it probable that I may have committed many 
errors. Whatever they may be, I fervently beseech 
the Almighty to avert or mitigate the evils to which 
they may tend. I shall also carry with me the hope 
that my country will never cease to view them with 
indulgence, and that, after forty-five years of my 
life dedicated to its service with an upright zeal, the 
faults of incompetent abilities will be consigned to 
oblivion, as myself must soon be to the mansions of 
rest. 

Relying on its kindness in this as in other things, 
and actuated by that fervent love towards it which 
is so natural to a man who views in it the native 
soil of himself and his progenitors for several gen¬ 
erations, I anticipate with pleasing expectation that 
retreat in which I promise myself to realize without 
alloy the sweet enjoyment of partaking in the midst 
of my fellow citizens of the benign influence of good 
laws under a free government—the ever-favorite 
object of my heart, and the happy reward, as I trust, 
of our mutual cares, labors and dangers. 

—George Washington. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


443 


LESSON CXLIV 

UNIVERSAL RELIGIOUS LIBERTY 

Can anything be more absurd and untenable than 
the argument of the learned gentleman when you 
see it stripped of the false covering he has given to 
it? First, he alleges that the Catholics are attached 
to their religion with a bigoted zeal. I admit the zeal, 
but I utterly deny the bigotry. He proceeds to in¬ 
sist that these feelings, on our part, justify the ap¬ 
prehensions of Protestants. The Catholics, he says, 
are alarmed for their Church; why should not the 
Protestants be alarmed for theirs? The Catholic 
desires safety for his religion; why should not the 
Protestant require security for his? Hence he con¬ 
cludes, that, merely because the Catholic desires to 
keep his religion free, the Protestant is thereby justi¬ 
fied in seeking to enslave it. He says that our 
anxiety for the preservation of our Church vindicates 
those who deem the proposed arrangement necessary 
for the protection of theirs ;—a mode of reasoning 
perfectly true, and perfectly applicable if we sought 
any interference with, or control over, the Protestant 
Church,—if we asked or required that a single Cath¬ 
olic should be consulted upon the management of 
the Protestant Church, or of its revenues or priv¬ 
ileges. 

But the fact does not bear him out; for we do 
not seek nor desire, nor would we accept of, any 
kind of interference with the Protestant Church. 
We disclaim and disavow any kind of control over 


444 


Standard Literary Selections. 


it. We ask not, nor would we allow, any Catholic 
authority over the mode of appointment of their 
clergy. Nay, we are quite content to be excluded 
forever from even advising his Majesty with re¬ 
spect to any matter relating to or concerning the 
Protestant Church.—its rights, its property, or its 
privileges. I will, for my own part, go much fur¬ 
ther; and I do declare, most solemnly, that I would 
feel and express equal, if not stronger repugnance, 
to the interference of a Catholic with the Protestant 
Church, than that I have expressed and do feel to 
any Protestant interference with ours. In opposing 
their interference with us, I content myself with the 
mere war of words. But, if the case were reversed, 
—if the Catholic sought this control over the re¬ 
ligion of the Protestant,—the Protestant should com¬ 
mand my heart, my tongue, my arm, in opposition to 
so unjust and insulting a measure. So help me God ! 
I would, in that case, not only feel for the Protestant, 
and speak for him, but I would fight for him, and 
cheerfully sacrifice my life in defence of the great 
principle for which I have ever contended,—the 
principle of universal and complete religious lib¬ 
erty! 


—Daniel O'Connell. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


445 


LESSON CXLV 

SOLECISMS AND BARBARISMS 

Our intellectual attainments and our moral char¬ 
acter are commonly judged by our language. No 
matter how much we may know, if we cannot speak 
correctly, we shall be looked upon as uneducated. 
Mistakes in speaking come under the head of sole¬ 
cisms or barbarisms. A solecism is an offence 
against grammar or syntax. A barbarism is an 
offence against language propriety, by mispronun¬ 
ciation or by the use of words and expressions which 
good writers or speakers never employ. All slang 
expressions are barbarisms. Barbarisms are also 
called vulgarisms. As the rules of grammar are 
written and defined, solecisms are easily detected. 
It is not so easy to decide what are barbarisms and 
what are not. The English have no fixed standard 
like the French to decide what words are proper to 
use and what is the correct pronunciation of each 
word. The only standard recognized in English is 
educated usage, but as the educated may differ in 
such things according to their different environ¬ 
ments, the educated usage must be universal, morally 
speaking, that is it must be recognized by the edu¬ 
cated wherever the English language is spoken. All 
localisms, whether provincialisms or nationalisms, 
are therefore, in a sense, barbarisms. There are 
English, Irish and American vulgarisms; and in 
this country there are vulgarisms peculiar to every 
nation whose people try so speak the English lan- 


446 Standard Literary Selections. 


guage. Here it will suffice to point out some of the 
vulgarisms and solecisms most common in America. 
Oliver Wendell Holmes mentions a few in the fol¬ 
lowing lines: 

Once more; speak clearly, if you speak at all; 

Carve every word before you let it fall; 

Don’t, like a lecturer or dramatic star, 

Try over-hard to roll the British R; 

Do put your accents in the proper spot; 

Don’t—let me beg you—don’t say “How ?” for 
“What?” 

And when you stick on conversation’s burs 

Don’t strew your pathway with those dreadful urs!” 

The majority of solecisms seem to be made in 
the tenses of verbs; thus we hear “blowed,” 
“throwed,” “knowed,” for blew, threw, knew; “done 
gone” for went, and “did have” for have had. The 
numbers of pronouns afford another widespread 
example, such as “we was,” “you was,” “they was,” 
for we, you, they were. “He ain’t” or “it ain’t” for 
isn’t is an example of the confusion of person. 
Amongst the barbarisms may be reckoned adverbial 
phrases and the use of adjectives for adverbs—“right 
smart” for frequently, “sure” for certainly or surely. 
Other examples are “sassy” for saucy, “feller,” 
“holler,” “critter,” for fellow, holloa and creature, 
“wonst” and “twist” for once and twice, “lootenant,” 
“institootion,” “constitootion,” are peculiarly Amer¬ 
ican and therefore avoided by good speakers; by a 
strange inversion yes is pronounced “yas,” and catch 
turned into “cetch”; “en-gine” is sometimes heard 
for engine, and “nigger” very often for negro;“most 
any” can be heard sometimes for almost any, and 
“way back” for away back; “oldest” should not be 


Standard Literary Selections. 


447 


used for persons instead of eldest, nor “raise” in¬ 
stead of rear; “raised” applies to vegetation and irra¬ 
tional animals. It is common to hear, “seen” for 
saw, but only those ignorant of the most elementary 
rules of grammar would say “have saw” for “have 
seen. Some of these may be called provincialisms 
as applying only to particular places; others may 
be called Americanisms as common to the whole 
country. All isms must be avoided by those who 
wish to speak the English language correctly. 


LESSON CXLVI 

THE TEMPTATION OF JUSTINIA 

Demon: 

Whom thou seekest thou shalt find, if only 
Thou wilt follow me and tarry not behind. 

Justinia: 

And who art thou, who hast found entrance here 
Into my chamber, through the doors and locks ? 
Art thou a monstrous shadow of the mind 
Oppressed by fear, of airy substance made? 

Demon: 

No. One I am 

From his eternal dwelling called by that 
Tyrannous thought that makes thee—one pledged 
This day to bring thee unto Cyprian. 



448 Standard Literary Selections. 


J ustinia: 

So shall thy pledge be vain. This agony 
Of passion which afflicts my heart and soul 
May sweep imagination in its storm— 
The will is fixed and firm. 


Demon: 

One half is done 
In the imagination of an act. 

The sin incurred, the pleasure then remains; 
Let not the will stop half way on the road. 

J ustinia: 

I will not be discouraged nor despair, 

Although I thought it, and although ’tis true 
That thought is but a prelude to the deed; 
Thought is not in my power, but—action is. 

A foot I will not move to follow thee! 

Demon: 

But in thee works a wisdom mightier far 
Beyond thine own, most potent, with such power 
Compelling thee to that which it inclines 
That it shall force thy step; how wilt thou then 
Resist, Justinia? 

J ustinia: 

By my free will. 


Demon: 

Thy will 

I must then force. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


449 


J ustinia: 


It is invincible. 

It were not free if o’er it thou hadst power. 
(Demon draws, but cannot move her.) 


Demon: 

Come, where a pleasure waits thee. 


J ustinia: 

Too dear. 


It were bought 


Demon: 

’Twill soothe thy heart to softest peace. 
J ustinia : 

’Tis dread captivity. 


Demon: 


Tis joy;, ’tis glory. 


J ustinia: 

’Tis shame, ’tis torment, ’tis despair. 

Demon: 

But how 

Canst thou defend thyself from that or me, 
If my power drags thee onward? 

J ustinia: 

My defense is placed in God. 

(Releases her.) 


450 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Demon: 

Woman, thou hast subdued me 
Only by not owning thyself subdued. 

But since that thou findest defense in God, 

I will assume a feigned form, and thus 
Make thee a victim of my baffled rage. 

For I will mask a spirit in thy form 
Who will betray thy name to infamy, 

And doubly shall I triumph in thy loss, 
Dishonor on thee shall I bring, then turn 
False pleasure to true ignominy. 

J ustinia: 

I 

Appeal to Heaven against thee, so that Heaven 
May scatter thy delusions, and the blot 
Upon my fame vanish in idle thought, 

Even as flame dies in the envious air, 

And as the flow’ret wanes at morning frost, 
And thou shouldst never—But alas! to whom 
Do I still speak? Did not a man but now 
Stand here before me? No, I am alone, 

And yet I saw him. Is he gone so quickly ? 

Or can the heated mind engender shapes 
From its own fear? Some terrible and strange 
Peril is near. 

— Calderon . 

(From The Wonderful Magician.) 


Standard Literary Selections. 


45i 


LESSON CXLVII 

SCRUPULOUS HONOR 

Infanta: Dry thy tears, Chimene, and without 
sadness receive this noble conqueror from the hands 
of thy princess. 

Don Rodrigo: Be not offended, sire, if even in 
your presence a homage that knows no law casts me 
at her feet. The reward of victory I come not here 
to seek. I come once more, dear lady, to offer you 
my head. My love shall not interpose in my favor 
either the law of the combat or the will- of the king. 
If all that has been done is too little to avenge your 
father’s death, say by what means you must be satis¬ 
fied. Must I still contend against a thousand and a 
thousand rivals, and to both the poles extend my 
labors, storm a camp myself alone, put to flight a 
hostile army, and eclipse the fame of the fabled 
heroes of olden days? If my deep offense can be 
by that means washed away I dare attempt it and 
accomplish it. But if this honor, proud and inex¬ 
orable, cannot be appeased without the death of the 
guilty, arm against me no longer the power of 
mortals; my head is at thy feet; avenge 
thyself by thy own hands; thy hands alone 
have the right to vanquish the invincible. Take 
thou a vengeance impossible to all but thee. But 
at least let my death suffice to punish me, banish not 
my memory from thy mind, and, since my doom 
preserves thy honor, to recompense thyself for this, 
cherish my remembrance, and say, sometimes, when 


452 Standard Literary Selections; 

deploring my fate, “Had he not loved me he would 
not have died.” . .. . 

Chimene: Rise, Rodrigo. Sire, I must confess I 
have said too much to be able to unsay it now. 
Rodrigo has noble qualities which I cannot hate; 
and when a king commands he ought to be obeyed. 
But to whatever fate you may have doomed me, 
can you in your presence tolerate this union? And 
when from my duty you demand this effort, is it in 
full accord with thy sense of justice? If Rodrigo is 
indispensable to Hie state, should I be the reward 
of what he has done for you, and resign myself to 
everlasting censure for having imbued my hands in 
a father’s blood ? 

Don Ferdinand: Time has often made lawful 
that which first seemed impossible, without being 
a crime. Rodrigo has won thee and thou art his. 
But although his valor has won thee by conquest 
to-day, I should be the enemy of thy honor, to be¬ 
stow so soon upon him the reward of his: victory. 
To postpone this bridal does not break a law, which, 
without fixing a time, pledges thy faith to hirm If 
thou wilt, take a year, to dry thy tears ; Rodrigo, in 
the meantime thou must take up arms. After hav¬ 
ing vanquished the Moors on our frontiers, over? 
thrown their plans and repelled their attacks, go 
and wage war in their own territory, command^my 
army, ravage their lands. At the very name of 
Cid they will tremble with terror; they have named 
thee lord, they will seek thee for king! But amidst 
thy great achievements be thou to her ever faithful} 
return if possible still more worthy of her, and by 
thy great exploits acquire such renown that then 




Standard Literary Selections. 453 

she will be honored to have thee for her spouse. 

Rodrigo: For thy services and for Chimene, 
what command can be given me that my arm can¬ 
not accomplish ? And whatever I may endure while 
absent, I have too much happiness, sire, in being 
able—to hope. 

Don Ferdinand: Hope in thy own courage, 
hope in my promise; and possessing already the 
heart of Chimene, let time, thy valor, and thy king 
overcome a scruple of honor which contends against 
thee. 

— Corneille. 

(From The Cid.) 


























































C 










































































■ 














































































































Standard Literary Selections. 


455 


BIOGRAPHICAL 


Addison, Joseph, 1672-1719. Born in Wiltshire, England, 
and educated at Oxford. His prose writings are 
standards in English classics. Chief amongst them are 
his essays in the Spectator. 

Bossuet, James Benigne, 1627-1704. An illustrious 
French prelate born at Dijon. He was educated in his 
native city and at the Sorbonne. For his lofty elo¬ 
quence in the pulpit, he was styled “The Eagle of 
Meaux,” Meaux being the title of his see when he be¬ 
came archbishop. His writings comprise thirty vol¬ 
umes. His work on universal history commands a 
foremost place in the world’s literature. 

Bourdaloue, Louis, 1632-1704. Born at Bourges, France. 
He entered the Society of Jesus, at the age of sixteen. 
When the fame of hi? eloquence reached the ears of 
Louis XIV. he was commissioned, like Bossuet, to 
preach before the court. He was styled “the king 
of preachers and the preacher of kings.” He is 
regarded by some eminent authorities as the most 
accomplished of sacred orators. 

Burke, Edmund, 1730-1797. Born in Dublin, Ireland, and 
graduated from Trinity College of the same city. He 
was distinguished as a statesman, orator and writer. 
He lost no opportunity to oppose Lord North’s repres¬ 
sive measures towards the American colonies. Lord 
Brougham numbers him amongst the most extraor¬ 
dinary characters of the world’s history. His speeches 
in defense of the colonies should be familiar to all 
patriotic Americans. 

Burns, Robert, i759-i79b. Born in Ayrshire, Scotland. 
His education was confined to the grammar school 
and private reading. Burns is known as the “Ayr¬ 
shire ploughman.” Besides being a distinguished 
ploughman, he became a distinguished poet, and ranks 



456 Standard Literary Selections* 

amongst the best lyric poets in the English language. 
Many of his poems were written in Scottish dialect, 
which made them extremely popular with his country¬ 
men. Like Byron, he .was too much addicted to drunk¬ 
enness and dissipation, and thus to a great extent 
blasted his reputation. “ The Cotter's Saturday Night” 
is one of his best productions. 

Byron, Lord (George Gordon), 1788-1824. Born in Lon¬ 
don, England, and educated at Harrow and Trinity 
College, Cambridge. Byron was a gifted and popular 
poet; and would have won a a more enviable place in 
literature had he not ruined his prospects by dissipa¬ 
tion and lessened the value of many of his composi¬ 
tions by licentiousness. Childe Harold, The Isles of 
Greece and The Prisoner of Chillon are among his 
longest and best-known poems. The Siege of Corinth 
and The Corsair are most worthy of note amongst the 
shorter ones. 

Campbell, Thomas, 1777-1844. Born in Glascow, Scot¬ 
land. Although Campbell was only a third or fourth 
rate poet, a great number of his poetical expressions 
have become popularized. He was only twenty-two 
years old when he published “The Pleasures of Hope.” 
His “Gertrude of Wyoming” is a charming narrative 
poem the scene of which is laid in Pennsylvania in the 
time of the colonial war. 

Calderon, Peter, 1600-1681. Born in Madrid and educated 
at Salamanca. Soldier, priest, poet, Calderon is one of 
the glories of Spanish literature. Calderon left 70 
religious plays called “Autos” and 108 dramas, and 
wrote parts of several other dramas. 

Chateaubriand, Viscount de, 1768-1848. Born at St. Malo, 
France. During the stormy scenes of the Revolution 
he was forced to leave France, and became almost an 
infidel. But the appeal of his mother brought him back 
to the Catholic Church, in whose defense he became 
celebrated as the author of The Genius of Christianity. 

Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1772-1834. Born in Devon¬ 
shire, England, and educated at Cambridge. His life. 


Standard Literary Selections/ 457 

like that of many other poets of his day, was erratic. 
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is the best known 
of his poems. 

Collins, William, 1721-1759. Born in Chichester, Eng¬ 
land, and educated at Oxford. He is distinguished in 
literature as a writer of odes, the best known being the 
Ode on the Passions. 

Corneille, Peter, 1604-1684. Born at Rouen. Educated at 
the Jesuit College of his native city. He graduated 
with high honors and was admitted to the bar at eigh¬ 
teen years of age. He soon devoted himself to litera¬ 
ture and is the dramatist of the Sublime. When “The 
Cid” was played, “Beau comme le Cid” (as fine as The 
Cid) became a proverb in many of the provinces. 

Cowper, William, 1731-1800. Born in Hertfordshire, Eng¬ 
land, and educated at Westminster. He commenced 
to write poetry at the age of forty and excelled chiefly 
in description and translation. 

Dante, Alighieri, 1265-1321. Born in Florence, Italy. 
Dante became entangled iii the historic political broils 
of the Guelphs and Gibellines, two powerful Italian 
factions. The result was exile from his native city, 
during which time he composed the immortal Divina 
Commedia or Divine Comedy, in which he carries the 
reader through Hell, Heaven and Purgatory. This 
poem had more influence, most probably, than any other 
circumstance in promoting the Revival of Learning. 

Davy, Sir Humphry, 1778-1829. Born in Cornwall, Eng¬ 
land. He was one of the most famous chemists of 
modern times. 

Delavigne, Casimir, 1793-1843. Born at Havre, France. 
He was a distinguished poet and dramatist. His 
Children of Edward abounds in passages of great force, 
many of them surpassing parallel passages in Shak- 
speare’s Richard the Third. 

De Vere, Aubrey, 1814-1902. Born at Adare, County Lim¬ 
erick, Ireland. His poetry, which breathes a Catholic 
and patriotic spirit, is of a high order, and appeals 
more to the cultured than the common mind. 


458 Standard Literary Selections. 


Digby, Kenelm H., 1800-1880. Born at Clonfert, Ire¬ 
land. In 1823 he became a convert to the Catholic 
Church and commenced to investigate the religious 
monuments of antiquity. He published the result of 
his investigation in The Ages of Faith; this work in¬ 
cludes eleven volumes. 

Dryden, John, 1631-1700. Born in Northamptonshire, 
England, and educated at Westminster and Cambridge. 
Dryden became distinguished as a satirist, dramatist 
and essayist. His writings had much influence in giving 
polish and cadence to the English language. When he 
became a Catholic he wrote the famous allegorical poem 
“The Hind and Panther ," to help repair the damage he 
had done by the publication of plays of questionable 
morality. 

Faber, Rev. Frederick William, 1815-1863. Born in 
Yorkshire, England, and educated at Oxford. He had 
been a clergyman of the Church of England, and gave 
up his living for the Catholic faith. He is the most 
profuse spiritual writer in the English language. Father 
Faber was remarkable above all for his earnest, gentle, 
loving character. 

Fenelon, Francois de Salignac de la Motte, 1651-1715. 
Born in Perigord, France, and educated at Cahors and 
Paris. Made Archbishop of Cambray in 1694. He was 
distinguished as a writer and preacher. The Adven¬ 
tures of Telemach, which he wrote for the instruction 
of his pupil, the Duke of Burgundy, is a living monu¬ 
ment of his genius and Christian virtue. His work on 
Quietism was condemned by the Pope, but such was 
Fenelon’s piety that he himself was 1 one of the first to 
publish the condemnation. 

Goldsmith, Oliver, 1728-1774. Born at Pallas, County 
Longford, Ireland. Educated at Trinity College, Dub¬ 
lin, and the Universities of Edinburgh and Leyden. 
Goldsmith excelled as poet, dramatist, essayist and 
novelist. 

Grattan, Henry, 1746-1820. Born in Dublin, Ireland. 
Educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and the Middle 


Standard Literary Selections. 459 

Temple, London. In 1801 he rose from a bed of sick¬ 
ness to oppose with his powerful eloquence the pro¬ 
posed union between England and Ireland. Though a 
Protestant, his voice was ever raised in defense of the 
persecuted Catholics. Sydney Smith wrote of him, 
amongst other things, “No government ever dismayed 
him—the world could not bribe him; he thought 
only of Ireland, lived for no other object— 
dedicated to her his beautiful fancy, his elegant 
wit, his manly courage, and all the splendour of his 
astonishing eloquence." 

Gray, Thomas, 1716-1771. Born in London, England. His 
poems are more the result of hard study than natural 
inspiration. His odes are deservedly famous, while his 
“Elegy in a Country Churchyard” is amongst the 
masterpieces of English literature. 

Griffin, Gerald, 1803-1840. Born in County Limerick, 
Ireland. He achieved fame in London as a poet and 
novelist, but the atmosphere and surroundings of Lon¬ 
don were not congenial either to his physical or moral 
nature, so he returned to his native land and joined 
the Christian Brothers, with whom he spent the re¬ 
mainder of his days, moulding the minds of youth in 
the paths of virtue and gentleness, and preparing 
their souls to reach their eternal destiny. 

Hallam, 1778-1859. Henry Hallam was educated at Eton 
and Oxford. He is eminent as an English historian, 
his chief works being a history of the Middle Ages and 
a constitutional history of England. 

Hemans, Mrs. Felicia, 1794-1835. Born in Liverpool, 
England. She was the daughter of an Irish gentleman. 
Mr. Browne, from County Sligo, Ireland. Her poetry 
is said to reflect her physical and intellectual beauty. 
She mastered the Latin, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese 
and German languages. Her life was somewhat sad¬ 
dened by domestic trouble, which gave an air of 
melancholy to her poetry. 

Irving, Washington, 1783-1859. The son of a Scotch 
merchant; was born in New York. He is 1 one of the 


460 Standard Literary Selections 


most popular and voluminous writers that America 
has yet produced. He has been styled the Goldsmith 
of America. His works comprise history, biography, 

<voyages, travels and-.essays, _ : 

Johnson, Dr. Samuel, 1709-1784. Besides beings learned 
critic, lexicographer and miscellaneous writer, Johnson 
was also distinguished for his brilliant conversational 
powers. His style in prose and poetry was peculiar to 
himself. To read his life by Boswell is almost equal 
to a course in English literature. 

Knowles, James Sheridan, 1784-1862. Born in Cork, 
Ireland. He was a cousin of Richard Brinsley Sheri* 
dan, and the greatest dramatist who has appeared 
in English literature since the death of his illustrious 
cousin. 

Lecky, William. Born in Dublin, 1838, and educated at 
Trinity College, Dublin. Mr. Lecky is one of the 

L world’s greatest historians at the present time. 
Rationalism in Europe and the History of European 
Morals are among his principal works. 

Lee, Richard Henry, 1732-1794. Born in Westmoreland 
county, Virginia. Statesman and orator. In Congress 
he introduced the resolutions for independence on June, 
7 , 1776 . 

Longfellow, Henry W. Born at Portland, Me., 1807, 
died at Cambridge, Mass., 1882. He graduated from 
Bowdoin College in 1825. He is the best known of 
American writers. His poems are more the product 
of philological training and refined taste than poetic 
genius. Evangeline and Hiawatha, both dealing with 
American historical events, are his longest and best- 
known poems. 

McCarthy, Abbe, 1769-1833. Born in Dublin, Ireland, died 
at Annecy, France. He was one of the most cele¬ 
brated pulpit orators of his day. 

McGee, Thomas D’Arcy, 1825-1868. Born at Carlingford, 
Ireland, and educated at Wesford. He was distin¬ 
guished as an orator, poet and statesman. In 1848 he 
had to fly from his native land on account of political 


Standard Literary Selections. 461 


• ' troubles. He was chosen to: represent Montreal in the 
Canadian Parliament, and was assassinated while leav¬ 
ing the house of assembly in Ottawa. 

Macaulay, Lord Thomas Babington, 1800-1859. Born in 
Leicestershire, England, and educated at Cambridge. 
He is one of the most distinguished masters of Eng¬ 
lish prose. His works consist mostly of essays and a 
history of England, with some biographies. 

Manning, 1809-1892. Born in Hertfordshire, England, and 
educated at Harrow and Oxford. At college he was 
distinguished for the rectitude of his conduct as well 
..as. for his brilliant talents. In 18.50 he left his posi- 
...: tion in the Church of England and became a Catholic, 
and in 1851 was ordained priest. In 1875 he was 
created cardinal by Pius IX. His works, mostly of a 
spiritual and controversial character, occupy twenty 
volumes. 

Massillon, John Baptist, 1663-1742. Born at Hieres in 
Provence. He was the greatest of French pulpit or¬ 
ators. In 1717 he was made Bishop of Clermont, and 
was elected a member of the French Academy two 
years later. 

Milton, John, 1608-1674. Born in London and educated 
. at. Cambridge. He enjoys, the honor of being the 
author of the. greatest poem in the English language, 
■ . ..Paradise Lost, which.- was composed after he. became 
totally blind. He is the author of a number of shorter 
. poems of uncommon: merki besides some prose works of 
: . - a controversial nature. *_•••• • ■ •; 

Montalembert, Count Charles, 1810-1870. Born: in Lon¬ 
don, of French descent. He was distinguished: for his 
high intellectual attainments and fearless defense of 
^ justice. He has been styled the O’Connell of France. 
The best-known of his works is The Monks of the 
West. 

Moore, Thomas, 1779-1852. Born in Dublin, Ireland, and 
educated at Trinity College, but could not take honors, 
as he was a Catholic. As a lyric poet Moore is seldom 
equalled and never excelled in the English language. 




462 Standard Literary Selections. 

He preserved the music of his native land from de¬ 
struction by wedding it to immortal verse. Nature 
fashioned him for a poet, and he is the poet of the 
heart rather than the head. His poems are called 
“Moore’s Melodies.” 

Newman, John Henry, Cardinal. Born in London, 1801, 
and educated at Ealing and Oxford, where he was 
distinguished for his intellectual abilities. In 1835 
he contributed with Dr. Pusey to some polemical 
works known as Tracts for the Times. The famous 
Tract go was condemned by the university authorities as 
leaning too much to Catholic doctrine. From this 
time forth Dr. Newman continued to investigate the 
truths of Christianity, until 1845, when he left the 
Church of England for the Catholic faith. As a master 
of the English language Dr. Newman is unsurpassed. 
His style is at once graceful, vigorous, clear and con¬ 
cise. His works of over thirty volumes comprise 
chiefly sermons, poems and essays. 

O’Connell, Daniel, 1775-1847. Born in County Kerry, 
Ireland, and educated in France, as the professions in 
Ireland were closed to Catholics, on account of the 
Penal Laws. The repeal of those obnoxious laws was 
the enormous undertaking which O’Connell imposed 
on himself and his success gained him the name of the 
“Liberator.” His success as an advocate was mar¬ 
vellous. 

O’Hagan, Lord Thomas, 1812-1885. Born in Belfast, Ire¬ 
land, and educated at the academical institution in the 
■ same city; as an advocate he was distinguished for his 
. forensic oratory. 

OzANAM, Frederick. Born at Milan, 1813. He came to 
study in Paris when France was convulsed by the 
effects of the Revolution and the enemies of Christian¬ 
ity worked in private and public to overthrow it. He 
used his great talents and culture to defend his faith, 
organized societies of Catholic students to combat the 
infidel tendencies of the universities, and finally these 


Standard Literary Selections. 463 


developed into the great society of St. Vincent de Paul, 
which is now spread throughout the world. 

Palgrave, Sir Francis, 1788-1861. Born in London. Emi¬ 
nent historian and antiquary. 

Pitt, William, 1759-1806, second Earl of Chatham. Was 
born in Kent, England, and educated at Cambridge. He 
was a celebrated orator and Whig statesman. 

Pope, 1688-1774. Alexander Pope was born in London. 
With those of Dryden his writings helped to give polish 
and precision to the English language. Pope excelled 
in satire, to which he seemed inclined by nature. The 
Dunciad is a famous specimen of this style of composi¬ 
tion. Though a great poet and a Catholic, his phi¬ 
losophy was not always sound, as may be seen in the 
Essay on Man. 

Prescott, 1796-1859. Born at Salem, Mass., and edu¬ 
cated at Harvard. His Conquest of Mexico and Con¬ 
quest of Peru are widely known but not always free 
from bias. 

Procter, Adelaide, 1825-1864. Born in London, she be¬ 
came a Catholic in 1851. Her poems, many of them 
of a religious nature, are of high merit. Charles 
Dickens says of her, “She was indefatigable in her en¬ 
deavors to do some good.” 

Racine, Jean, 1639-1699. Born near Paris and educated at 
Port Royal au Champs. At the age of twenty he at¬ 
tracted the attention of Louis XIV. by a poem on the 
king’s marriage. He is looked upon as the most per¬ 
fect of French dramatists, and his first masterpiece 
Andromaque in 1667 placed side by side with the gredt 
Corneille. In Esther and Athalie he dramatized sub¬ 
jects from the Bible. 

Ruskin, John. Born in London, 1819, and educated at 
Oxford. His works principally on art, are numerous, 
and written in a pleasing and lofty style. Although he 
may be called the apostle of the beautiful in nature, 
yet when he touches Catholic subject? he shows a 
lamentable want of candor. 


464 Standard Literary Selections. 


Ryan, Rev. Abram. It is in dispute whether he was 
born in Virginia, Maryland or Ireland. The date of 
his birth is about 1834. His poems are the outpouring 
of genuine poetic inspiration, as a glance will show 
and he himself asserts. They show no traces of that 
polish and extreme care which have given poems of 
less intrinsic merit a higher place in literature. Father 
Ryan is known as “The poet priest of the South,” 

Sadlier, Mrs. Anna. Was one of the pioneers in the work 
of producing Catholic literature for American read¬ 
ers. 

Schlegel, Frederick, 1772-1829. Born at Hanover and 
brought up a Lutheran, which belief he afterwards re¬ 
nounced for the Catholic faith. He was a most dis¬ 
tinguished critic, philosopher and philologist, and 
ranks amongst the greatest thinkers of his country. 

Scott, Sir Walter, 1771-1832. Born in Edinburgh, Scot¬ 
land. Scott achieved great distinction both as poet 
and novelist. He has immortalized in song the scen¬ 
ery of his native land. 

Shakspeare, William, 1554-1616. Born at Stratford-on- 
Avon, Warwickshire, England. With but little oppor¬ 
tunity for education in his early days, Shakspeare has 
astonished and delighted the world with his immortal 
. ( plays,, which prove him to be the greatest genius that 
England ever produced. King Lear , Hamlet and. 
Macbeth are the most famous. There are thirty-eight 
. . ' of his plays altogether. 

, S,heie, Richard Lalor, 1791-1851. Sheil was born in Dub- 

.... lin, Ireland. He was an orator by nature and acquisi- 
. tion. His. speeches in Parliament are compared to the 
“performances of an accomplished artist.” 

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 1751-1816. Born in Dublin, 
Ireland. Sheridan was unrivalled as an orator, and it 
is probable that the British Parliament has never wit¬ 
nessed his equal. He was also a distinguished play¬ 
wright and statesman. 

Southwell, Rev. Robert, 1560-1595. Born at Norfolk, 
England, and executed at Tyburn for the crime of be- 


Standard Literary Selections. 465 

ing a Jesuit and supplying his family and friends with 
priestly ministrations. He was distinguished, for his 
deep learning and gentle, loving character. He is re¬ 
garded as the founder of the modern English school of 
religious poetry. His influence is apparent in Crashaw, 
Downe, Herbert and Waller. 

Souvestre, Emile, 1806-1854- Born in Morlaix, France, 
Distinguished as a novelist and dramatist. 

Tennyson, Lord Alfred, 1809-1892. Born in Lincolnshire, 
England, and educated at Cambridge. Tennyson is the 
most celebrated of modern English poets, since Words¬ 
worth, whom he succeeded as poet laureate. The 
Princess and In Memoriam are two of his best poems. 

Tyndall, John, 1820-1893. Born at Leighlin Bridge, Coun¬ 
ty Kildone, Ireland. His early studies were in his na¬ 
tive place. He afterwards went to the University of 
Marburg. He was a celebrated scientist, but a pro- 
• nounced materialist. 

Wiseman, Cardinal Nicholas, 1802-1865. Born at Seville, 
Spain, of Irish parents. He was educated at St. 
Cuthbert’s College, Ushaw, and the Propaganda, Rome, 
He holds the first rank amongst linguists and philol¬ 
ogists, and was deeply versed, in every department of 
literature. Few great men have been so versatile in 
their attainments as Cardinal Wiseman. Mainly through 
his efforts the English heirarchy was restored in 1850. 
Fahiola shows his power as a novelist. 

Wordsworth, William, 1770-1850. Born in Cumberland, 
England, and educated at Cambridge. With Coleridge 
and Southey he gave rise to what is known as the 
Lake School of poetry. Wordsworth is particularly 
famous for his sonnets. 


) 

N. B. The reader will observe, that in the selections 
contained in this book, different forms of spelling have been 
followed. 

One form consists in the elimination of certain letters, 
and for convenience may be called the American spelling. 



466 Standard Literary Selections. 

In favor of this, it is said that it is shorter, and therefore 
saves time. On the other hand it is maintained that the 
time saved is of little consequence, and is 1 far outweighed 
by the violence done to the etymology of the language. 
Some day there may be uniformity; but it is important 
for the pupil to remember at present, that both forms are 
used by vast members of English speaking people. 

There are various spellings of Shakespeare’s name. 
It has been spelled,—Shakspere, Shakspeare, Shakespear, 
and Shakespeare. Shakspeare and Shakespeare are the 
most modern forms. 



Standard Literary Selections. 467 


ANNOTATIONS AND DEFINITIONS 


Page 

8. Reunited—When the yellow fever broke out in 1878 
in the generous Southland, the aid from the North 
was prompt, and as no one was a more ardent 
lover of the South during the war than Father 
Ryan, no one was quicker to acknowledge the 
generosity of a noble foe when the battle was lost. 

10. Glacier—A river of ice slowly descending down a 

mountain side. 

11. Percolate—To filter or flow through. 

16. Hautboys—A wooden reed instrument resembling, 
a clarionet. 

16. Timotheus—b. at Miletus. A celebrated Athenian 
musician and poet. He added the eleventh string 
to the lyre. d. about 375 B. C. 

19. “And like another Helen fired another Troy.” Ac¬ 
cording to the Greek legend, Helen, reputed the 
most beautiful woman of her age, was wife of 
Menelaus, King of Sparta. She was carried away 
by Paris, son of Priam, King of Troy. To re¬ 
dress this insult the combined Grecian princes 
laid siege to Troy. The war lasted ten years. 
The city was finally taken by stratagem and given 
to fire and sword. 

19. Cecilia—St. Cecilia, a Christian maiden of Rome, was 
martyred 177 A. D. She is the patroness of music. 

21. Wolsey—Cardinal Wolsey, once the powerful Prime 
Minister of Henry VIII. When he objected to 
Henry’s divorce from his lawful wife, he incurred 
the king’s displeasure and lost his high position, 
and lived an humble, repentant and pious life. 

21. Swedish Charles—Charles VII., King of Sweden from 
1697 to 1718. He successively defeated with a 
small army the forces of Denmark, Russia and 
Poland combined against him. 



46° Standard Literary Selections. 

Page 

22. And one capitulate and , one resign—Charles I. 
marched against Denmark and compelled the 
King to capitulate and sign a treaty of peace. 
A few years later Augustus II. of Poland found 
himself compelled to sign a treaty of peace and 
resign in favor of Stanislaus Lesczinski, whom 
Charles had chosen King. 

22. Pultowa’s Day—When he had defeated Denmark and 
Poland Charles marched into Russia with the 
intention of deposing the Czar, Peter the Great. 
He laid siege to Pultowa in 1709, where he suf¬ 
fered a signal defeat, which destroyed the suprem¬ 
acy of Sweden in the North. 

21 A petty fortress and a dubious hand—Charles was 
killed while besieging a small fortress in Norway. 
The circumstances of his death were suspicious. 

27. Hampden—John Hampden, an English patriot, was 
imprisoned in 1637 for refusing to pay to Charles 
I. a tax called ship money. Although the whole 
people objected to it, he was the first individual 
who refused to pay. His imprisonment only in¬ 
flamed the opposition, which culminated in the 
King’s execution. 

27. Quiddity—Something indefinite. Properly, it means 
essence. 

30. Ashur—The ancient national god of the Assyrians. 

30. Baal—The supreme god of the Canaanites. 

30. He was worshipped with most revolting orgies and 
human sacrifices. 

34 Grand Pre—Great Meadow. 

37. Evangeline—The heroine of Longfellow’s poem. 

When those simple Acadian farmers submitted 
to the British in 1758 and gave up their arms, 
they were heartlessly driven into exile, their 
homes burned and families and friends were sep¬ 
arated forever. 

38. Hyssop—An herb, used here to signify holy water. 

38. Missal—A Mass book. 


Standard Literary Selections. 469 


Page 

56. Theseus and Lycurgus were Grecian statesmen, 
Numa was a Roman statesman. 

56. Romulus was reputed founder of Rome. 

56. Joan of Arc—A simple country maid, who, at the 
age of seventeen, donned male, attire and, by the 
direction of God, placed herself at the head of 
the armies of France and delivered her country 
from the power of the English. She had Charles 
VII. crowned at Rheims, and foretold that within 
seven years the English would be forced to with¬ 
draw, a prophecy which was duly fulfilled. 

67. Wrings the lightning from heaven—The Sage, i. e. t 
Benjamin Franklin, is credited with the invention 
of lightning rods. 

74. Towers of Julius—The crime stained tower of Lon¬ 
don is said to have been commenced by Julius 
Caesar. 

92. Peri—In Persian mythology the descendant of a 
fallen spirit enjoying pleasure and immortality 
though not allowed to enter Paradise. 

98. Oude—A province in East India. 

99. Begums—Native princesses of Hindoostan. 

99. Zenana—The portion of a house in East India re¬ 
served for ladies. 

117. “They held the crown by conquest; he by descent.”— 

The Saxons as well as Danes and Normans ob¬ 
tained their foothold on Britain by conquest. 

118. Pied—Variegated. 

133. “The bard begun”—The prophet Isaiah foretold the 

birth of Christ. 

134. “A glad voice the lonely desert cheers.”—John the 

Baptist preached to prepare for the coming of 
Christ. 

160. Abaddon—The angel of the bottomless pit. 

163. Oriel—A large bay window. 

165. Corbel—An ornamental projection from a building. 

It is fashioned like an epaulette. 

165. Fleur-de-Lys (flur d’ li)—The lily of France. 


470 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Page 

165. Quatre Feuille (Kather file)—The four leaf Sham¬ 
rock. 

183. Termagant—A boisterous character in early plays. 

Now it means a scolding woman. 

207. Anti-Jacobin .—A paper started in England, by George 
Canning, in 1797. The object of the paper was 
to bring ridicule on the doctrines of the French 
Revolution, and their adherents. 

229. Cordilleras—A range of the Andes. 

229. “My fathers unfolded the ensign of Spain.”—The 

Milesians arrived in Ireland from Spain. 

230. “As the vision that rose to the Lord of the world.”— 

When Constantine the Great defeated Maxentius 
at the Milvian Bridge in 312 A. D. he became 
master of the Roman Empire of the west, which 
afterwards ruled the world. The vision was a 
bright cross which Constantine and his army 
beheld above the mid-day sun; the cross bore in 
Greek letters, the inscription “In this Conquer.” 
Christ appeared to Constantine the following 
night and ordered him to adopt the cross as his 
standard. After winning this battle Constantine 
became a Catechumen, and issued an edict of 

toleration granting Christians liberty of worship. 
He was baptized a Catholic towards the end of 
his life. 

238. Ximenes', Francis Cardinal, 1438-1517. Born in 

Torrelaguna, Spain. Studied at Salamanca Uni¬ 
versity. He was famous as a scholar and states¬ 
man. He founded the University of Alcala. 

239. “Ephesian’s Miracle.”—The Temple of Diana at 

Ephesus’, one of the seven wonders of the world. 
239. Diana’s Marvel—The noted temple of Diana at 

Ephesus. 

239. Sophia’s bright roofs—The celebrated church of 

Santa Sophia in Constantinople. 

241. Leagued Oppression—In 1794 Poland was attacked 
by the combined forces of Austria, Russia and 
Prussia. The Poles were defeated after a brave 


Standard Literary Selections. 


47 1 


Page 

fight for their liberty and were forced to witness 
the partition of their beloved country amongst 
those three powers. 

242. Kosciusko—Thaddeus Kosciusko, who fought under 
Washington in the American War of Inde¬ 
pendence, led the Poles against the despoilers of 
their native land. 

245. Carinthian boor—Carinthia, a province of Austria- 
Hungary, seems to have been noted for the rude¬ 
ness of its inhabitants. 

260. “I loved to choose.”—This refers to the doctrine of 
private judgment which holds that each one 
should interpret the teachings of the Bible as he 
chooses. This was Newman’s belief before he 
became a Catholic. 

266. “Day’s amiable sister.”—The moon. 

275. Caractacus—In the reign of Claudius, the Romans 
determined on the final subjugation of Britain. 
The famous Briton chief Caractacus successfully 
resisted them for nine years but was at last taken 
prisoner by the Roman General Osterius. 

275. Priest of Janus'—'The temple of Janus was closed in 
times of peace. 

275. Via Sacra (vee-a-sac-ra) (sacred way)—The name 
of a street in Rome. 

283. Wabun—The East—The East wind. 

285. Nokomis—Grandmother of Hiawatha. 

289. Ponemah—Hereafter. 

289. Seneca—A Stoic philosopher, b. 4 B. C. in Corduba; 

d. 65 A. D. in Rome. He was tutor to Nero and 
managed the government when Nero became 
King. 

289. The Stoics—A school of ancient philosophers who 
thought that pleasure and pain should be alike 
despised. 

303. Dies Irae—Day of wrath. 

311. Religio Laici—Religion of a layman. 

324. General Monk—An English General who served 
under Charles I., Cromwell and Charles II. His 


472 


Standard Literary Selections. 


Page 

most distinguished services’ were in restoring 
the monarchy 1660 A. D. and in the war against 
the Dutch 1666 A. D. 

326. Pyra praecocia—Premature fire. 

343. Ciacco—Italian for hog. Glutton. 

345. Blazon—Revelation. 

361. “Mary Queen of Scots” was the daughter of James 
V. of Scotland and the great-granddaughter of 
Henry VII. of England. She married Frances II. 
of France and was left a widow at the age of 
eighteen. On her return to Scotland she was 
denied passage through England, becaifse she 
would not sanction infringements on her rights, 
and acknowledge Elizabeth as queen of England. 
To acknowledge Elizabeth as queen would be to 
renounce her own rights to the English throne 
on the death of Queen Mary. Many of the nobles 
of her kingdom, including her half-brother, the 
Earl of Moray, were turbulent and treacherous, 
and plotted against their sovereign. As 1 a pro¬ 
tection Mary married her Catholic cousin, Henry 
Darnley, had him proclaimed king of the Scots, 
and granted freedom of conscience to all her sub¬ 
jects. Darnley proved an unworthy husband, and 
joined a conspiracy to murder Rizzio, the faithful 
secretary of Mary. When Rizzio was rutMessly 
murdered, Mary herself was imprisoned in her 
palace. Her enemies then plotted to depose her 
and imprison her for life. She succeeded finally in 
awaking the conscience of her husband, with 
whose aid she escaped and reached Edinburgh 
at the head of a small army. The conspirators 
fled to England, but were soon afterwards 
pardoned by Mary, who was desirous to promote 
peace in her kingdom. They repaid her gener¬ 
osity by the murder of Darnley and tried to im¬ 
plicate Mary in the conspiracy. She was then 
compelled to marry Bothwell, the murderer of 
Darnley, and was forced to submit to the 


Standard Literary Selections. 


473- 


Page 

Protestant marriage rite. After many reverses 
and misfortunes, Mary had to leave Scotland and 
pass over into England, where she remained a 
prisoner of Elizabeth for nineteen years. 
While Mary Stuart, who was* considered by 
many the lawful heir to the throne, was alive, 
Elizabeth could not enjoy her reign in peace. A 
plot was concocted by Elizabeth’s chief secretary 
and his associates, to implicate Mary in a con¬ 
spiracy against the queen’s life. Every artifice of 
falsehood was summoned to bring about her 
destruction. No witness or original document 
was 1 produced to prove her guilt. Elizabeth tried 
to avoid the odium of staining her hands with the 
blood of a sister queen, but when she could not 
find any one to carry out her infamous design 
she finally signed the death warrant, and Mary’s 
head fell beneath the ax on February 8, 1589. 
She was denied the consolations of religion; and 
her only crime was, that she was a Catholic and 
lawful heir to the crown of England. The Earl 
of Kent delivered her death warrant with these 
words: “Madam, your life would have been the 
death of our new religion, while your death— 
God grant it—will be its life.” 

365. Fiat—Latin for “Let there be”—The word God is 
represented to use when He created the world. 

365. Rizzio—A native of Piedmont who first became the 
musician, and afterwards secretary and confi¬ 
dential adviser of Mary Queen of Scots. 

375. Targum.—The name of the Chaldean version of the 
Old Testament. The most notable of the Tar- 
gums was known as the Onkelos. 

375. “Antiquities of Josephus.”—A history of the Jews 
from the creation to. 66 A. D. written by Flavius 
Josephus, who was born in Jerusalem about 37 
A. D. 

378. Henry’s holy shade—Henry VI. was founder of the 
College. 


474 Standard Literary Selections. 

Page 

386. The system of Ptolemy.—Ptolemy was an ancient 
astronomer who built up a system of astronomy 
on the principle that the sun, moon and stars 
revolved around the earth. It was displaced by 
the present system (Copernican) in the sixteenth 
and seventeenth centuries, which was first started 
by a Catholic priest, Nicholas Copernicus, and 
completed by the help and encouragement of 
of Pope Geogory XIII. 

389. Bissextile—Means twice six; therefore, a leap year 

from the 26th of February having been counted 
twice. 

390. Quatre Temps (Kathre Tom) four times i. e. Quarter 

Tense. 

398. Ecclesia Christi Exulans—The Church of Christ 
in exile. 

398. Serpens Antiquus Antichristus—The old serpent 
Antichrist. 

398. Ogee—An arcade with alternate convex and concave 
arches. 

416. Curll and Osborne.—London publishers of Johnson’s 
time, who plied their calling without regard for 
honesty or decency. 

420. Le vainqueur du vainqueur de la terre—The 
conqueror of the conqueror of the earth. 

452 “The Cid .”—The Cid is the name of one of 
Carneille’s masterpieces. It is taken from a 
Spanish source and turns on the struggle be¬ 
tween love and duty. The Cid, whose name was 
Rodrigo Diaz, to avenge an insult to his aged 
father, slays the offender who happened to be 
the father of his fiancee, Chimene. Chimene feels 
bound in duty to avenge her father’s death by 
the punishment of her lover. Cid is the Arabic 
for lord and was first applied to Rodrigo by the 
Moors. 


Standard Literary Selections. 


475 


CONTENTS 


Lesson Page 

i. The English Language. 5 

1. (Part 2nd) Solitude Preferred to Society 

. Shakespeare 7 

2. Reunited .Father Ryan 8 

3. Forms of Water.John Tyndal 10 

4. Alexander’s Feast, or the Power of Music 

. John Dryden 15 

5. The Vanity of Human Wishes... .Dr. Johnson 20 

6. Enterprise of American Colonists.Burke 24 


6. (Part 2nd) The Wise Man’s Prayer 


. Dr. Johnson 25 

7. On American Taxation.Burke 26 

7. Part 2nd) Polonius 1 to Laertes.Shakspeare 28 

8. The Destruction of Sennacherib.Byron 29 

8. (Part 2nd) The Dying Gladiator.Ibid 30 

9. Return of British Fugitives.Patrick Henry 31 

9. (Part 2nd) The Lov.e of Country.Scott 33 

10. The Village of Grand Pre.Longfellow 34 

10. (Part 1st) Benedict and Evangeline.Ibid 37 

10. (Part 2nd) Evangeline’s Home.Ibid 38 

10. (Part 3rd) Evangeline’s Early Life.Ibid 40 

11. Arrival of the British.Ibid 43 

11. (Part 2nd) Father Felician Prevents a Riot.Ibid 45 

11. (Part 3rd) Burning of the Acadian Homes.Ibid 46 

11. (Part 4th) Death of Benedict.Ibid 48 

11. (Part 5th) Evangeline meets Gabriel.Ibid 50 

11. (Part 6th) Death of Gabriel..Ibid 52 

11. (Part 7th) The Last of the Acadians.Ibid 52 

12. For Independence.R. H. Lee 54 

13. Joan of Arc.... 56 

14. Esther Pleading for her Nation.Racine 62 

15. Three days in the Life of Columbus. 

. Casimir Delavigne 64 

Pitt 67 


16. The American War 































47^ Standard Literary Selections.. 


Lesson Page 

16. (Part 2nd) America Unconquerable.Ibid 69 

17. Cassius and Brutus.;...Shakespeare 71 

18. Charges Against Catholics ..Shiel 73 

19. Irish Aliens and English Victories.Ibid 76 

20. Immortality . Massillon _ 79 

21. Origin of Hospitals. Digby 81 

22. God Seen in His Works. .. .. ... .Fenelon 85 

23. Sorrow for the Dead.Washington Irving 89 

24. Paradise and the Peri.Thomas Moore 92 

25. Barnardo Del Carpio.Mrs. Hemans 94 

26. Invective against Warren Hastings... .Sheridan 98 

27. The Cross in the Wilderness.Mrs. Hemans 100 

28. Leo the Tenth.Roscoe 104 

29. Joan of Arc at Rheims.Mrs. Hemans 107 

30. The Discovery of America. 

. Thomas D’Arcy McGee in 

31. Edward the Confessor.Lingard 115 

32. Prince Amadis. Faber 117 

33. Venice . Faber 120 

34- Sunday . Ibid 122 

35. Isabella of Castile.Prescott 125 

36. The. Lily of Cherwell..Faber 130 

37. The Messiah .Pope 133 

38. The Surrender of Grenada, A. D., 1492. .Irving 136 

39. Science and Religion.Cardinal Wiseman 140 

40. Characteristics of an Educated Gentleman. 

. Cardinal Newman 143 

41. The Gathering of the Dead.Faber 145 

42. (Part 2nd) the Middle Home.Ibid 148 

43. God’s Work in the Moral Order. 

. Archdeacon O’Keefe 151 

44. Filial Love .Sheridan 155 

45. Happiness Sought in Wealth.Pollok 156 

46. Fame .. Pollok 157 

47. Bossuet on Henrietta Anne of England. 

. Apb. Bossuet 160 

48. Melrose Abbey .Scott 163 

49- Italy in the Middle Ages...Macaulay 166 






































Standard Literary Selections. 


477 


Lesson 


Page 


So. Character of William Pitt, Earl of Chatham.... 


. Grattan 172 

51. Hope . Campbell 174 

52. Forgiveness . Bourdaloue 176 

53. Michael Angelo.Roscoe 179 

54. Stage Oratory . ...Shakespeare 183 

54. (Part 2nd) Hamlet’s Soliloquy.Ibid 184 

55. Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette....... Burke 185 

56. The Ocean .Byron 188 


56. (Part 2nd) Morning Hymn to Mont Blanc- 


. Coleridge 189 

57. Battle of Waterloo ...Byron 193 

58. Work of Nature.Sir Humphry Davy 196 

59. Religious Emblems. Ibid 198 

60. Ode to the Passions.Collins 200 

61. The Presence of God.Bourdaloue 203 

62. Lies of History.Palgrave 206 

63. Roman War Council.Addison 208 

63. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard. .Gray 211 

65. The Church and Society.Cardinal Manning 216 

66. Look Home .Southwell 219 

66. (Part 2nd) Marrulus’s Speech to the Mob. 

. Shakespeare 220 

67. The Stream of Life.Gerald Griffin 221 

68. Mark Antony’s Oration at Gesar’s Funeral...4 

. Shakespeare 223 


69. The Action of the Catholic Church in Uprooting 


Slavery ... Lecky 226 

70. The Cross of the South.Mrs. Hemans 229 

71. The Mail Carrier ....Cowper23i 

71. (Part 2nd) Evening at Home.Ibid 232 

72. The Church and the Bible.Lord O’Hagan 235 

73. St. Peter’s Church at Rome.Byron 239 

74. The Downfall of Poland. .Campbell 241 

75. Peroration to the Invective againsrt Warren- 

Hastings . Sheridan 243 

76. The Traveller .Goldsmith 245 

77. Satan’s Address to the Sun.Milton 248 

78. The Evidences of Religion.Wiseman 249 


































478 Standard Literary Selections. 


Lesson Page 

79. The Sister of Charity .Gerald Griffin 251 

79. (Part 2nd) Pernicious Reading. Abbe McCarthy 254 

80. William Tell to His Native Mountains. 

.Jas. Sheridan Knowles 257 

81. The Glory of the Cross.Montalembert 259 

82. Lead, Kindly Light.Newman 260 

82. (Part 2nd) Wordsworth’s Tribute to the Blessed 

Virgin Mary . 261 

82. (Part 3rd) Holy Cross Abbey.. .Aubrey de Vere 261 

83. The Coliseum by Moonlight.Byron 262 

84. The Garden of Eden.Milton 264 

85. The Starry Heavens.Dr. Young 266 

86. Letter to a Scientific Apostate. .Fredrick Ozanam 268 

87. (Part 2nd) Letter to a Scientific Apostate. 

. Ibid 271 


88 . 

89. 

90. 


91. 


92. 


93 - 

94. 

95 - 

si 96. 

97. 

98. 

99. 

100. 

101. 

102. 

103. 

104. 

105. 

106. 

107. 

108. 
108. 


The Flag and the Cross.273 

Caractacus . Barton 275 

(Part 2nd) Caractacus.Ibid 277 

The Middle Ages.Schlegel 280 

Arrival of Catholic Missionaries Amongst the 

Indians . Longfellow 283 

Departure of Hiawatha.Ibid 286 

Adversity . Bacon 289 

Studies . Ibid 291 

The Art of Book-Making.. .Washington Irving 292 

The End of the Year.Emile Souvestre 296 

The End of the Year (Continued).Ibid 299 

The Carnival .Ibid 301 

Dies Irse . 303 

The Hind and the Panther.Dry den 306 

(Part 2nd) The Hind and the Panther... .Ibid 309 

Religio Laici .Ibid 311 

The Chinese Philosopher in England..Goldsmith 314 
Chinese Philcsopher in Westminster Abbey.Ibid 318 
(Part 2nd) Chinese Philosopher in Westminster 

Abbey . Ibid 321 

Diversity of Talent.Ibid 325 

Thou Art, O God.Moore 328 

(Part 2nd) The Bird Let Loose.Ibid 329 































Standard Literary Selections. 


479 


Lesson Page 

109. Oh, Thou! Who Dry’st the Mourner’s Tears.. 

. Ibid 330 

109. (Part 2nd) Is it not Sweet to Think, Hereafter 

. Ibid 331 


no. 

in. 

112. 

113. 

114. 
US- 

116. 

117. 

118. 

119. 

120. 

121. 

122. 

123. 
123. 
123. 

125. 

126. 

127. 

128. 

129. 

130. 

131. 

132. 

133 . 

134 . 

135 . 

136. 


Anti-Catholic Riots, Philadelphia. 

.John Gilmary Shea 332 

(Part 2nd) Anti-Catholic Riots, Philadelphia 

. Ibid 335 

Hell . Dante 339 

(Part 2nd) Hell.Ibid 341 

Purgatory . Ibid 343 

Paradise . Ibid 345 

America’s Debt to the Church.Eastabrook 347 

Was Shakespeare a Catholic?.Hand 349 

The Holy Grail.Tennyson 353 

The Nature of Mysteries...Chateaubriand 356 

The Criterion of Vice and Virtue.Ibid 359 

Mary Queen of Scots.H. G. Bell 361 

(Part 2nd) Mary Queen of Scots.Ibid 366 

Mass for the Dead.Alfred B. Street 369 

(Part 2nd) Chastity.Wilson 371 

The Inchcape Rock.Southey 371 

The First Language of Man. .Cardinal Wiseman 374 

Ode on the Death of a Favorite Cat.Gray 376 

Ode on Eton College.Ibid 378 

Hymn to Adversity.Ibid 382 

The Astronomical Clock of Strasburg. 

.Apb. Spaulding 384 

(Part 2nd) The Astronomical Clock of Strasburg 
. Ibid 390 


(Part 3rd) The Astronomical Clock of Strasburg 

. Ibid 397 

A Christmas Carol.Adelaide Procter 402 

Apophthegms . 405 

Quarrel Between Death and Satan at the Gates 

of Hell .Milton 409 

Dr. Johnson and His Times.Macaulay 412 

Letter of Condolence to Dr. Lawrence. 

. Dr. Johnson 418 


































480 Standard Literary Selections. 


Lesson Page 

137. Letter to Lord Chesterfield.Ibid 420 

138. Man Was Made to Mourn.Burns 422 

139. The Trial of Warren Hastings. .Lord Macaulay 425 

140. Contrast Between the Material and Moral 

Worlds . Newman 431 

141. Lochiel’s Warning .Campbell 435 

142. Cardinal Wolsey .Shakespeare 438 

143. From Washington’s Farewell Address.440 

144. Universal Religious Liberty... Daniel O’Connell 443 

145. Solecisms and Barbarisms.445 

146. The Temptation of Justinia.Calderon 447 

147. Scrupulous Honor. Corneille 451 

Biographical .455 

Nota bene . 465 

Annotations and Definitions .467 















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